Becoming Neville
by Jedi Rita
Summary: COMPLETE Neville's Gran breaks her hip just after his fifth year at Hogwarts, and he must spend the summer with Harry and Remus. They discover a hidden message in the candy wrappers his mother has been giving him, and begin to uncover the mystery.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Neville hated London, and London in the rain was even worse. He trudged along the sidewalk behind Professor Lupin, making a point of stepping in all the puddles. His feet slapped against the water, splashing sludge everywhere. It was childish, he knew, but he didn't care. It matched his mood. "Step in a puddle, Gran is in a muddle." Okay, maybe that wasn't the best rhyme ever, and it was rather mean. But Neville was mad at his grandmother right now. He had offered to hang up the decorations for her annual summer garden party, but she insisted on doing it herself. Granted, Neville managed to destroy half the decorations whenever he helped (he swore the strings of fairies tangled him up on purpose), but that would have been a small loss considering the alternative. Gran was really too old to be climbing on stepladders. He should have insisted, but Gran had refused to listen to him.

Not that Neville was particularly glad to have been proven right.

The doctors said it would take up to two months to regrow her hip. Old bones took longer. So Gran was bedridden at St. Mungo's, and Neville would stay at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix where he could be near her -- and protected. But he was not excited about being at the center of the fight against He Who Must Not Be Named. After everything that had happened at the end of the school year, he'd really been looking forward to spending the summer in Gran's garden, not stuck in dirty old London.

Step in a puddle. Slap! Gran is in a muddle. Splash! His wet socks squished in his shoes. Everything was soaked and gray, much like his mood. Trevor wriggled inside his coat pocket, and Neville tightened his grip to keep him from escaping into the rain. At least Trevor seemed to be happy.

Step in a puddle. Slap! Gran is in a --

Crash! He bumped into Professor Lupin, who had come to a stop. Lupin stared down at him, taking in his sopping state. "A bit wet there, aren't you, Neville?"

Neville blushed, clutching at Trevor in his coat pocket. "Sorry, Professor."

The wrinkles around Lupin's eyes tightened. "I'm not a professor anymore," he reminded him. Lupin looked pale and drawn -- more so than usual. In fact, he looked like Neville felt, except Neville was too chubby to appear suitably miserable.

Lupin must have noticed, though, because he said, "Your Gran is going to be all right."

Neville scowled reflexively. It was never good when people told you things were going to be all right.

Lupin sighed, acknowledging the futility of his attempt to be sympathetic. "Well, here we are." He fished in his pocket and handed Neville a piece of paper. "Read that silently and memorize it."

Neville unfolded the paper and read, The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London. He looked up at Professor Lupin, opening his mouth to ask a question.

Lupin held up a hand to silence him and said, "Now think about what you just read."

Frowning, Neville pondered what the words on the paper were supposed to mean, and to his surprise a house suddenly shouldered its way between the two buildings in front of which they had been standing. Lupin grasped the snakehead handle and held the door open for Neville.

They stepped inside. The entryway was dark and forbidding, silent and dusty as a tomb. A staircase led up into the shadows, and there didn't appear to be any windows. The place seemed exactly the way Neville pictured a haunted house, like the Shrieking Shack. He shuddered. 

Mistaking his discomfort, Lupin said, "Let's get you out of those wet things. You can hang your coat here and leave your shoes in the corner."

Neville knelt down on the muddy carpet and tugged at his shoes. They made a loud squelching sound as they came off. He peeled his socks off as well, revealing his pale and pruney toes. Lupin helped him with his coat and said, "Let's get you to the kitchen where you can warm up in front of the fire."

Neville nodded, fishing Trevor out of his coat pocket and following Lupin down the hall.

The walls were gray and streaked with dirt. He could barely make out the pattern of the wallpaper beneath the grime. Paintings hung here and there, but they were all covered with dusty black curtains. Neville couldn't imagine a less cheery place.

At least the kitchen proved to be not quite so dour. A fire burned in the grate, doing its best to banish the gloom and inject a hospitable spirit, and the place looked like it had been lived in sometime within the last century. Neville placed Trevor on the thick, worn table and dragged a chair closer to the fire. He stretched his feet out toward the warmth, and immediately felt the chill in his body lessen.

Lupin was fussing over by an ancient icebox that looked older than Neville's Gran and returned with a plate of bread and cold cuts. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook."

"That's all right," Neville said, as he gratefully tucked into the food.

Lupin popped the caps off two bottles of butterbeer and placed them on the table. He drank in silence while Neville ripped up a slice of ham. Balancing a small piece on the tip of his finger, Neville held it out toward Trevor, wriggling the meat before him. Trevor's large, blinking eyes stared back. In a pink flash, his tongue shot out and he swallowed the morsel with a happy grunt.

"It's kind of you to share your dinner with your toad," said Lupin, a wry grin bringing a hint of life to his worn features. "But I imagine he will have no problem finding his own meals around here. This place is a toad smorgasbord. I don't suppose he likes mice?"

Neville shot Lupin a startled glance, and Lupin laughed. "Ah, well. I suppose Hedwig will have to take care of the mice herself."

"Hedwig is here?" Neville asked, sitting up straighter. "And -- and Harry?"

"Yes. Didn't anyone tell you?"

"No. I thought I was going to be here by myself." His spirits rose a little. Maybe the summer wouldn't be quite the prison he'd thought it would be.

"Harry's here for the duration as well," Lupin explained. "People come and go all the time, doing business for the Order, but I'm afraid you, Harry and I will be the only permanent residents."

Neville took a drink from his butterbeer and stared into the fire. His favorite professor, and Harry. The summer was beginning to look up.

After Neville finished off the sandwiches, Lupin took him upstairs.

"You boys are pretty much on your own," he explained as he pointed his wand at Neville's suitcase, charming it to float. He headed up the stairs, the suitcase bumping its way after him. "You want to be careful poking around the house, as there are still plenty of boggarts, pixies and other nuisances lurking about. Still, that'll be good practice for you. And given that You Know Who is on the loose, we don't want you boys leaving the house without supervision. I'm afraid that doesn't leave much to keep you entertained."

"That's all right. At home it's just Gran and me, anyway." Neville picked his way down the gloomy hallway, clutching Trevor close to his chest. The carpet felt gritty beneath his bare feet.

Lupin nodded at one of the doors as they passed by. "That's where Harry's staying. I'm upstairs. And this --," he stopped, pushing the door open, "will be your room."

Neville followed him in. A large bed stood in the center of the room, concealed by dusty curtains. There was a small fireplace in the wall, a moth-eaten overstuffed chaise longue, a wardrobe, and a small desk with a wooden chair. A couple of gas lights on the walls illuminated the room with a gloomy light. Neville crossed the room to some old maroon curtains, but when he drew them aside, he saw that the glass was so crusted with dirt it was impossible to see through.

"The windows have been concealed for safety," Lupin explained.

Rain pattered against the glass, and he could just discern a thin rim of light around the edges of the grimy panes. He sighed. "It's great."

"All right then, I'll leave you to get settled. Dinner will be around six. Some of the Order will be coming."

Neville nodded, and Lupin quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Neville remained still for several minutes, staring around the room. It was rather creepy being alone. The dark corners seemed vaguely menacing, as if they were hiding something. But this would be his home until the start of school term, so he'd better get used to it. 

Trevor fidgeted within his grasp, and Neville knelt to let him go. "Take care of yourself there, Trevor." The toad sat on the carpet, licking his eyes with his tongue, then waddled off toward the bed.

Neville shivered. His pants legs were still quite damp, and in the absence of a fire, he was growing chilly again. He dragged the suitcase over to the wardrobe, and flipping open the lid, began unpacking. He changed into dry clothes and placed the rest of his things in the wardrobe. His books, quills and ink went on the little desk, along with the cards he had brought to play with. Since Harry was here, maybe he wouldn't be stuck playing solitaire all the time.

The thought of Harry cheered him up slightly, and he left his room, being careful to shut the door behind him so Trevor couldn't get out. Lupin's talk of mice and pixies worried him, and he didn't want Trevor wandering around on his own until Neville was a little more familiar with the house.

He approached Harry's door and knocked lightly. When Harry didn't answer, he knocked again, louder this time. "Harry?" he called out. "Harry, it's me, Neville." He waited, but there was still no answer. Perhaps Harry was asleep. He pressed an ear to the door to see if he could hear any movement inside the room, but he heard nothing. If Harry was indeed asleep, then Neville didn't want to disturb him by knocking again. With one last look at the door, he turned and headed down the hall back to his room.

Just before six, Neville poked his head out of his door and peered down the hall. Harry's door, he noticed, was still closed. Shutting his own door behind him so Trevor couldn't escape, he padded down the hall and paused outside Harry's room, pressing his ear against the door to listen for sounds of movement inside. But all was silent. He raised his hand to knock just in case, but then decided against it. If Harry was hiding out in there, then he'd just ignore Neville, so there was no point drawing attention to himself. He moved on down the hall, pausing at the top of the stairs. Voices drifted up from below, and he wondered who might have arrived. Feeling a bit shy, he crept down the stairs, straining to listen.

Once downstairs, he hesitated in the hall, staring down the line of curtains hanging on the wall. He had the oddest feeling that people were peeking at him from behind the curtains. Taking a deep, fortifiying breath, he scampered quickly down the hall to the safety of the kitchen, where he paused before pushing the door open and peeking inside.

"Is that you, Neville?" Lupin called. "Come on in."

He entered to find Lupin and a strange man and woman sitting at the table. At the sink, a plump lady with red hair was peeling potatoes. She turned at Lupin's greeting and smiled warmly at Neville. "There you are, love! I thought I'd pop on over and make a nice dinner in honor of your arrival."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," said Neville.

"It's my pleasure, dear. I am so sorry to hear about your grandmother. I do hope she'll mend right up."

"Thank you. And how is Ron?"

Concern briefly clouded Mrs. Weasley's cheery face before she smiled again. "Oh, he's doing well enough. He still has rough spells after...his misadventure. Needs his rest, otherwise he'd have come tonight. But he did give me these to pass along to you." She reached into her pocket and passed Neville a handful of chocolate frogs. "But not before dinner, mind you."

"Thank you," said Neville.

The strange woman, who sported a shock of neon blue hair sticking up around her ears, called out, "Wotcher, Neville. You remember me, eh?"

"Umm --"

She held her hand out to him for a shake. "It's Tonks. But last time we saw each other we were all in a bit of a muddle with You Know Who."

Now Neville remembered her from the Ministry of Magic, one of the Order members who had showed up to help in the battle.

"You're pretty good with a wand there, Neville," she continued. "Ingenious, really -- sticking it in Macnair's eye. I don't remember them teaching us that trick at Hogwarts, but hey, if it works!"

Neville shivered and stared at his toes. He didn't really like to think about what had happened there. None of it had been pleasant, and he still couldn't believe the things he had done that night. Not that he'd been brave. He'd been far too frightened to be brave. But he'd done the things he had to do -- things he hadn't known he was capable of, and the realization that he could do such things made him feel funny.

The other wizard nodded in greeting. "Sturgis Podmore. Nice to meet you, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville mutely nodded in return, and Mrs. Weasley said, "Come on and sit down at the table, dear. Dinner will be ready soon. I don't suppose you told Harry you were coming down?"

"No," said Neville.

"Harry knows when dinner is, Molly," Lupin said quietly. "He'll be down in a minute, I'm sure."

Neville saw Ron's mum shoot Lupin a mysterious look -- not unlike the expression she'd had when he'd asked her about Ron.

He offered to help set the table, and as he laid out the plates, Tonks and Podmore and Lupin asked him about school and how his summer had been going. Neville wasn't used to being around a bunch of adults he wasn't related to, other than Gran's little old lady friends who gathered weekly to gossip and swap potion recipes while smoking their pipes. He was a little nervous, afraid that his school record didn't sound very impressive, but he finally realized they didn't care about his OWL exams. They were just chatting, making an acquaintance - with him. It made him feel kind of grown-up, himself.

About five minutes after dinner started, the kitchen door swung open and Harry entered. The grown-ups all greeted him, and Mrs. Weasley warmly said, "There you are, dear."

"Hullo, Harry," Neville said.

"Hullo," Harry replied, barely looking at Neville as he took a seat next to Mrs. Weasley.

"Ron sent you his Quidditch magazines," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'll give them to you after dinner."

"Thanks. How is he?"

"Oh, he's been helping Fred and George with that infernal joke shop of theirs. If only that boy put as much effort into his studies as he does into writing those ads!"

"May I come see him?"

Mrs. Weasley's expression softened "Not this time, dear. He's had a tough go of it these past few days. Maybe next week."

At that, any spark of interest died in Harry's eyes, and he turned silently to his meal.

Neville surreptitiously watched Harry while trying not to stare. He seemed unusually pale, and almost as forlorn as Lupin. Belatedly, Neville remembered how moody and withdrawn Harry had been all school year. Perhaps he wouldn't turn out to be quite the good company Neville had thought.

If Neville could have picked anyone from all of Hogwarts with whom to spend the summer, it would have been Harry. But it wasn't because he was The Boy Who Lived. He remembered that ride on the Hogwarts Express his first year, when the entire train was abuzz with the rumors that Harry Potter himself would be starting school. He'd pictured someone tall and brave and very handsome. In fact, he'd seen someone on the train who fit the bill perfectly, but it turned out to be Oliver Wood. It was an easy enough mistake. Wood just looked like a hero.

But Harry did not. The Boy Who Lived turned out to be a scrawny, short kid with messy hair, glasses, and ill-fitting clothes beneath his robe. He looked ordinary and definitely unglamorous. He struggled with his classes, though not as hard as Neville did. True, he was a master at Quidditch and definitely very brave, but that didn't mean he was always the best at everything, or always confident, or even always popular.

And right now, he was more like The Boy Who Didn't Talk Much. He hardly spoke at all throughout the meal, and his silence began to affect Neville. Tonks sought to amuse the boys by making her ears turn all kinds of weird shapes, even upside down, but her efforts went largely unappreciated.

Toward the end of the meal, they could hear the portrait in the entry hall start to screech as Order members began to arrive.

"Looks like the meeting's about to begin," Lupin announced, pushing back from the table. "If you'll excuse us?"

As Podmore and Tonks rose to join him, Neville offered, "I'll get the dishes, Mrs. Weasley."

"Thank you, love. That's very sweet of you." She rummaged through a large orange sack and fished out a stack of magazines. "Here you are, Harry." Harry took the magazines from her, and Neville saw her hesitate before reaching out to run a hand over Harry's spiky hair.

Harry's eyes were downcast. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

Her smile was sad, but when she glanced at Neville, her expression brightened. "I'll see you later, Neville. Take care." Then she followed the others out of the room.

For a moment, neither of the boys spoke, staring at the remains of dinner. The sight of all those empty plates in disarray, crumbs scattered across the table, half-drunk glasses of pumpkin juice, filled Neville with an aching loneliness. It was the story of his life: interesting people always rushed away after meals. They never stayed to hang out with him. But there was no use fretting over something that would never change. With a little sigh, Neville started stacking the plates. His actions roused Harry, who stood and went to the sink, turning the tap on.

They worked in silence, washing and drying the dishes and putting them away. When the kitchen was clean and tidy they headed out into the hall. Neville hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, glancing down the hall toward where the others must be meeting. But Harry showed no interest in what might be going on, and Neville hurried to catch up with him. "Do you want a chocolate frog?" he offered, pulling one from his pocket.

"No, thanks. I've got loads of them in my room."

When they reached Harry's room, Neville started to follow him in, but Harry turned and looked at him as if he wasn't too pleased. "I'm just going to read my magazines and go to bed."

"Oh." Neville fidgeted. "Well, can I read here with you for a while?"

Harry said nothing at first, then shrugged one shoulder. "You want to look at these?" he asked, holding up the magazines.

"Sure."

Harry gave Neville half of them, then stretched out on his bed, propping himself on his elbows and sorting through the magazines. Neville settled cross-legged on the floor and opened the top magazine. While he loved to watch Quidditch, he didn't particularly care to read about it. Mostly he just looked at the pictures from the games, re-creating some of the more dramatic plays. Finally he said, "So how long have you been here?"

Without looking up from his magazine, Harry answered, "A couple of weeks."

"I thought you had to stay with your aunt and uncle all summer."

Harry shrugged. "I was there at first, but we quickly got tired of each other, and Dumbledore said I could stay here with Lupin."

"Is this his house?" 

"No, it belonged to Sirius."

Neville frowned. That was the man they had gone off to rescue, who had died in the fight with the Death Eaters. Harry hadn't said much about him out afterward, though he had clearly been distraught over his death. "He was your godfather?" Neville asked, trying to remember.

"Yeah." Harry turned the page of his magazine, his attention focused on his reading.

Neville considered this. The house didn't look like it had been occupied in a long time. If Harry's godfather had lived here, he must have had a high tolerance for dust. "Do you miss him?"

But Harry didn't say anything. He just rubbed at his nose and kept reading his magazine as if he hadn't heard.

That was answer enough in itself. Neville returned to his magazine, pretending to read it. After about half an hour, he bid Harry goodnight and returned to his own room. It looked like it would be a long summer after all. 


	2. Chapter 2

I forgot to mention last time that I intend to post a new chapter every Monday and Thursday. So far there are about thirty-three chapters. This is a finished story, I'm just giving it a final revision.

Chapter Two

Neville didn't sleep much that night. Of course, he didn't sleep much most nights anymore, but that night he had an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar house to contend with. He lay awake for hours, staring into the blackness of his curtained bed, listening to the mutterings and creakings of the house. The noises didn't really bother him that much, even though he had no idea what was making them, and he no longer had a wand with which to protect himself. But he felt safe enough knowing that Harry and Lupin were in the house. As strange as the noises might be, they were not as frightening as the dreams he could expect if he fell asleep.

At some point he did nod off, of course. But he did not dream about Her, with her wicked laugh and evil eyes. Instead, he dreamed of Gran at St. Mungo's. She was complaining about her breakfast, and Neville wandered through the halls trying to find a nurse or attendant to help him, but all he could find were other patients shuffling around in their dressing gowns and robes, hobbling on crutches. Somewhere, someone was humming a lullaby, and the melody filled him with a sense of urgency and despair. He called out for the nurse, but no one responded to his pleas. No one even looked at him. "They're not getting better! They're not getting better!" his dream-self cried out.

Someone answered, "No one ever does."

His dream-self spun around, trying to see who had spoken, but there was no one there except the patients, their expressions slack, their eyes lifeless. He could hear his Gran calling for him, her voice shrill over that haunting lullaby. "Look at these eggs!" she griped. "They're not supposed to be purple! Neville! Do something!"

"I'm trying, Gran!" He looked for her room, but the numbers on the doors kept moving around, just out of focus, and he couldn't remember Gran's room number anyway. If only he could read the numbers, maybe he could remember where he was and what he was supposed to do. But the numbers would not resolve themselves, and when he reached into his pocket for his wand, he found nothing there.

Neville finally shook himself awake, feeling frustrated and uneasy. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear his vision of those elusive room numbers, and reached out to draw the curtains aside. The little light that shone through the sealed windows gave the room a murky gloom. The place hardly looked more appealing in the morning than it had at night.

He climbed out of bed and searched the room for Trevor, finally locating him under the wardrobe. Trevor appeared to be in fine form, so Neville left the toad to his own devices, got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast.

He found Lupin in the kitchen preparing a plate of leftovers from last night's dinner. "Good morning," Lupin greeted him. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," he answered politely as he slid a chair out from the table.

They ate breakfast mostly in silence, and Neville wished he had brought a book down to read, especially since it didn't appear that Harry would turn up for breakfast. Neville liked Professor Lupin well enough, but he wasn't really up to the task of carrying on a conversation with him alone. Lupin seemed scarcely in the mood either, despite his polite attempts.

When they had finished breakfast and the dishes were washed and put away, Lupin said, "I have some research to do for the Order. You could help me if you like, but you might prefer to explore the house on your own." He gave Neville a wry smile. "I won't mind."

No doubt Gran would say that he ought to help Professor Lupin, but he wasn't very good at research. "Maybe...maybe I'll just look around the house first and get acquainted with it."

"All right. Just remember, this house isn't particularly friendly. You'll be safe enough, but if you run into any problems, just give a shout."

With this dubious assurance, Neville headed off to explore. He started with the ground floor, doing little more than poking his head into doorways. He found the parlor, where the chairs have been arranged around a great table - probably where the Order meetings were held - and a formal dining room, a drawing room and a library. There were plenty of closets and corners that he might have explored, but he was still a bit intimidated by Lupin's warning about pixies the previous night.

Up to the first floor, where his and Harry's rooms were located. Most of the other rooms up here were bedrooms as well, aside from an informal sitting room. It seemed about as pleasant a place as anything else he'd found, so he might want to get familiar with it.

On to the second floor. More bedrooms. When he stumbled across what must be Lupin's room, he blushed and hastily shut the door, as if he had trespassed someplace he shouldn't have been.

Another room looked like it had been converted into a laboratory. Neville didn't care to linger there, either, as he was certain to upset something that would probably end up destroying the whole house.

At the end of the hall he discovered a short flight of steps leading up to a door. He figured it must be the attic. Attics were chancy; anything could be hiding in them, and those anythings frequently liked to bite. On the other hand, attics could also contain interesting treasures. He screwed up his courage and resolved to at least take a look.

He found a candlestick on one of the hall tables and lit it from a gas lamp. Holding the candle before him, he opened the door. Brilliant light flooded into the house, almost blinding him after the indoor gloom. The door didn't lead to an attic. It led to the roof.

Neville blew out his candle and blinked against the daylight. The sky was full of clouds, but not completely overcast. With all the windows sealed, Neville hadn't even realized the sun was shining outside. He checked to make sure that the door wouldn't lock behind him, then stepped outside.

It was as if he'd shrugged off a great, musty old cloak. It felt wonderful to be outside, and he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of the city: wet pavement left over from yesterday's rain, hot tar paper from the roof drying in the sun. It wasn't exactly the British countryside, but it was much better than dust and decay.

Neville approached the wall, which reached up to his chest. The concealment spell ought to keep him hidden as well. At least, he thought so. He probably ought to check with Lupin first, but he wanted to look around. Resting his arms along the top of the wall, he looked down three stories to the ground below.

He was looking at the alley behind the houses, lined with twin rows of tiny backyards, some with toys and patchy grass, others with beautifully tended gardens. Some had laundry hanging out to dry, others had lawn chairs and tables crowded into the tiny plots. He felt like a spy staring into these people's backyards, as if he were sorting through someone else's underwear drawer. But he found the alley strangely comforting, too, a reminder that other people were going through their lives right next door. Even if the neighbors were Muggles, it meant that he was not alone in the world.

But it still seemed like an intrusion of privacy, so he didn't stay long. He turned away from the wall, and that's what he saw it: the greenhouse. Neville gasped in delight.

It was an ancient thing, and at one time it must have been truly beautiful. But now the elegantly wrought iron frame was rusted through in places, white paint peeling off like an insect sloughing off its skin. Tangles of dead vines wove through the frame, pushing through the broken and cracked panes. A thick layer of pigeon droppings and dirt coated the glass, and Neville doubted much light could get through the grime.

He picked his way toward the greenhouse and grasped the door handle, giving it a solid twist, but it was locked. A pane of glass had been broken out near the handle, and he reached through it to unlock the door. As he pulled it open, several panes of glass to teetered precariously in the frame. He paused, holding his breath, but nothing fell, and he cautiously entered the little building.

Nothing was growing inside except moss and a few tenacious weeds. The beds had not been tended in ages, and they were filled with the rotting remains of old plants, tangled with dried brown vines. Even in their decayed state, Neville recognized several of the plants, but there were plenty of others he didn't know it all. He itched to take some sample leaves downstairs in order to research, but that would not be a good idea. Even dead, some plants could still pack enough poison to leave him covered in boils for a week. He'd have to bring the reference books up here.

He scouted through the shelves and under the beds and found that the house was well-stocked with equipment: spades, clippers, pruning shears, watering cans. He found bags of potting soil and fertilizer, though he wasn't sure if they were good anymore, and several pairs of leather gloves so old that they would probably crack if he tried to put them on. Anyway, he wasn't about to stick his fingers into old gloves that had been lying around for years. Who knew what bugs might have taken up residence inside them?

Half the roof was missing, and the floor was littered with broken glass and bird droppings. It was a mess, and it was probably not safe, and it would take forever to clean up.

Neville was in heaven. 

During the course of the morning, the sun slowly burned off the clouds, heating up the day. But Neville was so absorbed in his work, sorting through the items in the greenhouse and surveying what needed to be done, that he scarcely noticed. Dirt was packed under his fingernails, the cuffs of his shirt were damp from where he kept wiping the sweat off his forehead, and his neck was gritty with dust. It wasn't until the sun at last poked through a hole in the roof, shining down on him like a spotlight, that he even noticed how much time had passed. He sat back on his heels and squinted up into the sun, wiping his face with his grimy cuff and scouring his skin. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him of how long it had been since breakfast, and he decided to take a break and hunt down something to eat.

He headed back inside, whistling as he stomped down the stairs. The greenhouse was even more fun than his grandmother's well-tended and orderly garden, and he hoped he could plant some of the more exotic species that Gran would never let anywhere near her geraniums.

When Neville entered the kitchen, he found Lupin sitting in front of a plate of sandwiches, a half-drunk glass of lemonade at his elbow, parchments scattered across the table. "There you are!" Lupin exclaimed. With a flick of his wand, the parchments all rolled themselves up and piled themselves neatly on one of the chairs. Gesturing to the sandwiches, Lupin continued, "I went looking for you for lunch, but I couldn't find you anywhere. I hope you don't mind me starting without you, but I figured you would turn up eventually."

Heading over to the sink to wash his hands, Neville said, "I was up in the greenhouse."

"Greenhouse?" Lupin asked as he poured out a fresh glass of lemonade.

"Up on the roof."

"That's a greenhouse?" Lupin laughed. "I just thought it was some old shed. The thing was so filthy, I wouldn't go near it!"

"Oh, no, it's a greenhouse," said Neville, taking a seat at the table and reaching for the sandwiches. "It's a bit of a mess, but I could fix it up..." He faltered, suddenly remember that the greenhouse did not belong to him. "If you wanted, I mean. I could clean it up and make it ready for you to use."

Lupin watched as Neville stuffed half of a ham sandwich in his mouth at once. "Don't bother. No one's been in that greenhouse for at least ten years. I doubt you could get anything to grow in it at all, and I'd hate for you to waste all that time for nothing."

"It wouldn't be a waste, Professor," answered Neville around a mouthful of sandwich. "Professor Sprout says you can grow anything anywhere with patience and a lot of loving care."

Pouring out a glass of pumpkin juice for Neville, Lupin said, "I have no doubt that she could work such miracles, but it's not worth the effort."

The thought of the beautiful greenhouse, left to rot for lack of love, filled Neville with an ineffable sadness. "It would be worth it to me," he said quietly.

Lupin studied him over the rim of his glass. "You're certainly welcome to try, Neville. Just don't get your hopes up. I'm sure it needs a lot of repair, and there will be no one to look after it once you go back to school."

Neville slowly took a bite of his sandwich. Lupin was probably right. What was the point of working so hard, only to have it all go feral again when he left? But if he could make a difference - even a tiny one, just for a couple of months - to make something grow, to bring it to life, to show it love - surely that would be worthwhile in and of itself? He had so few opportunities to do anything useful.

"I would like to try," he offered, "if you don't mind."

Lupin gave him a gentle smile. "Far be it from me to stand in your way. Just let me know if you need any seeds or...whatever you gardeners require. I'll be happy to get it for you."

"Thank you," Neville said, grinning shyly back. He reached for another sandwich, glancing around the kitchen for a sign that Harry might have shown up for lunch. "Did Harry eat already?"

A small frown creased Lupin's forehead. "No, he hasn't come down. He usually keeps to his room all day. It's best if we just let him be."

Neville took a thoughtful bite of his sandwich and glanced over their heads, toward where Harry must be sulking in his room. Perhaps it was a blessing to have found that greenhouse. It certainly seemed like Harry wasn't going to be much fun over the summer.

After lunch, Neville went back to work on the greenhouse. He took a parchment and quill and spent the rest of the afternoon making a diagram of the beds and what he might plant in them and listing the supplies he would need. As he surveyed the amount of work that would need to be done, he realized that Lupin's pessimism was not unwarranted. Even patience and loving care couldn't yield good results in sterile soil and scorching sun. But the challenges only made him more determined. Herbology was the one thing he was really good at, and he wasn't about to quit the field without giving it a good try.

As the sun began its descent toward the horizon of rooftops, Neville packed up his parchment and went downstairs to wash up for dinner. Apparently there was no meeting of the Order tonight, as it was just Lupin in the kitchen, boiling up some cauldron noodles. Lupin informed him that Harry had come down for a late lunch and then vanished upstairs once more. The two of them shared a quiet dinner, discussing Neville's ideas for the greenhouse. Afterward he browsed through the library, pulling out any books he could find that related to herbology. Then he took his stash upstairs and read alone in his room until he fell asleep, exhausted from a good day's hard work.

She loomed above him, her features sharp and strangely beautiful, her long hair flowing down her back. She smiled, and Neville thought he had never seen anything more terrifying.

"Longbottom?" Her lip curled in a sneer. "Why, I have had the pleasure of meeting your parents, boy."

He wanted to shout at her, but no sound emerged from his mouth. He reached for his wand, but there was nothing there.

She grew taller even as he watched, stretching high above him. "Let's see how long you last before you crack like your parents."

He had to warn Harry, he had to get away, but his feet were rooted to the spot. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, strained until he thought his lungs would burst, but he could not make a sound. He held the Prophecy against his chest with numb fingers, and he feared he might drop it.

She raised her arm. The tip of her wand traced a slow arc as it rose toward him.

Scream! Scream! he shouted in his mind, but he could say and do nothing. He was losing his grip on the Prophecy. He could not allow himself to lose it. He could not mess things up this time. But he was held transfixed.

Eyes as pale as a winter sky. 

Features as sharp as if they have been chiseled from marble.

Hair flying about like lightning. 

The wand pointed at his heart.

Move! Move! But he could not.

She would curse him, just as she had his parents. Already he could feel his muscles cramping in anticipation of the pain. He was nothing more than a bug to her, a bug that she would grind beneath her heel. The voices lanced through his brain like shards of broken glass.

"Why even bother, boy?"

"Little more than a squib!"

"We'll test that potion on Trevor!"

"You sure your name isn't Widebottom?"

"Thank God your father isn't here to see how you've turned out!"

Her lips moved, preparing to pronounce the Cruciatus curse.

But at last he found his voice, and he was faster than her. He hurled the Prophecy at her and screamed.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Neville lurched awake, trembling, gasping desperately for breath. The Dream again. He could still see her face shredded by the shattered Prophecy, could feel his glee as she screamed in agony. Fury and terror boiled through his veins. His hands trembled with the desire to sink his fingers into her eye sockets, to feel the flesh tearing away from her skull. He wanted her blood on his hands. His own voice echoed in his ears, shrieking the Killing Curse, and he clamped his hands over his mouth to keep himself from saying it.

He felt sick.

"Not real," he whimpered. "Not real, not real. I didn't say it. I never said it." But God, how he wanted to in the Dream. He might not have said it, but the hatred was real, burning in his throat like acid. He could say it. He could. And then what would happen? 

He sat up in bed, clutching his stomach to keep from vomiting, his eyes squeezed shut. He recited a poem in order to drive the evil words out of his head, an old poem about a little lamb that his Gran had taught him when he was young. It helped calm him whenever he was frightened, and his nausea gradually subsided to be replaced by tremors. He lay back down on his side, drawing the covers tightly around him, but Gran would not be coming in to check on him. He hated bothering her with his nightmares. His inability to conquer them was one more example of his failure as a Longbottom. He was desperately afraid that she would ask him about his dreams, and he had no idea what he would tell her. But she never berated him when she came to his room. She never said anything, just sat on the edge of his bed and laid her dry hand upon his forehead until the tremors stopped and he at last fell asleep again. But she was at St. Mungo's now, and he was alone.

Eventually his tremors stopped, even without Gran's presence. The poem drowned out the evil words, but it didn't drive them out of him completely. He could see Her face in the darkness, that sneer, those hard eyes. Her lips moved to utter the curse, and he felt the rage bubbling within him again with all the relentless fury of an erupting volcano, saw himself throwing the Prophecy, heard his own voice shrieking in anger --

"No!" he whimpered, as the memory threatened to overwhelm him. He screwed his eyes shut and pressed his hands over his pounding heart, but he could feel the curse shredding him, not the Cruciatus, but the other one --

Uttering a strangled cry, he threw the covers off and leaped out of bed. He crossed the room, feet padding against the dusty carpet, and opened the door.

The hall was almost as dark as his room. The faintest hint of light shone from somewhere, but it scarcely comforted him. There was something dark and sinister about this house. It seemed to sneer at him, the way She had. He wasn't afraid of the house. After all, what could it do to him? But he didn't like it all the same. It lingered with the scent of ozone and burnt hair, as if somebody had cast a hex. He glared into the darkness, almost daring the house to try something, but all remained quiet.

Swallowing hard, he headed down the hall toward Harry's room and knocked on the door. He didn't want to knock too loudly, for fear of waking Professor Lupin as well. Nothing stirred on the other side of the door. He waited for several seconds, then knocked again. "Harry!" he said in a loud whisper. Pressing his ear against the door, he listened for sounds of movement, but he couldn't be sure if he heard anything or not. "Harry?"

The door opened, and he stepped back in surprise at the suddenness of it. A rumpled Harry stared out at him, expression barely discernible in the dark. "What is it?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

Strangely, Neville wasn't embarrassed about coming to Harry because of a bad dream. After all, he knew Harry sometimes had nightmares, too. "I -- I'm sorry to bother you. It's just -- I had a dream about..." He paused, not wanting to say it out loud. But maybe he didn't have to. Harry had been there, too. He'd seen Her. "You know," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry remained silent, but after a moment his expression softened.

"I don't want to sleep alone," Neville continued. "I won't bother you. I just thought -- maybe I could sleep in your chair. If you don't mind."

Harry studied him in the dark, and Neville fidgeted at the scrutiny, rubbing his toe along the edge of the hall carpet. He was tempted to just turn around and go right back to his room. Stupid of him, really, to think that Harry wouldn't find him a big baby, crying over a nightmare as if he were a first-year.

But then Harry stepped back, letting Neville into the room. Surprised, Neville entered, glancing around in the dark for the chair as Harry headed back to his bed, the frame creaking as Harry crawled under the covers.

"Come on," Harry's voice came to him out of the dark. "The bed's plenty big enough. You don't need to sleep in the chair."

Neville felt his way across the room toward Harry's voice. His outstretched hand brushed against the curtains and he could hear Harry shifting to make room for him. He crawled up onto the bed and pulled the covers up. The mattress was still warm where Harry had been lying. Neville snuggled into the covers, the warmth already melting away the chill of his dream. "Thanks, Harry," he said into the darkness.

"It's all right."

Within moments, Neville was asleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Neville slept better that night that he had in a long time. Harry was still asleep when Neville woke up, and he was able to get away without disturbing Harry any further. He felt blissfully refreshed by his sound rest, and by the time he'd washed and dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast, he was almost happy. He poured himself a bowl of Witchabix and was shortly joined by Professor Lupin.

Over breakfast, he told Lupin about the things Harry had taught the students in Dumbledore's Army. Mostly he went on about Harry's great skill and knowledge, but he threw in a few personal boasts as well. After all, he'd made good progress during the school year, and he had done pretty well at the Ministry of Magic. He and Harry had been the only two students left standing at the end. Lupin listened attentively, asking questions and making quiet observations throughout.

"If Dumbledore still hasn't found a professor to teach Defense against the Dark Arts next year," Neville said around a mouthful of Witchabix, "he should hire Harry. I guess he can't really, but Harry's class was as good as yours. Still, at least in Dumbledore's Army we didn't have grades. Maybe that's why I did so well." He paused in his prattle to gulp down some tea.

Lupin smiled. "You're certainly in a cheery mood today. I think you've talked more this morning than in all the previous conversations we've ever had together."

Neville blushed. "Sorry about that, Professor."

"No, it's quite all right. I like it. So what do you think you'll do today? Work some more on the greenhouse?"

"Yes. Maybe Harry will help me."

Lupin's smile faded slightly. "Perhaps."

Despite the lateness of the hour, Harry had not yet appeared, and Neville was starting to wonder if he ever came out of his self-imposed exile. Curious, he asked, "What exactly does Harry do in his room all day?"

Lupin's gaze returned to him. "I don't know. This past year has been really hard for him."

Neville idly stirred his Witchabix, pondering Harry's testy behavior all year. "I bet he misses Ron," he said, musing aloud.

"That's part of it. And he's still mourning for --" Lupin stopped, and he appeared rather choked up himself.

"I never knew he had a godfather before we went looking for him at the Ministry."

"They had only recently been acquainted."

Neville considered this, but quickly realized he would never be able to unravel the mystery that was Harry Potter. Abandoning that topic of conversation in favor of one with more potential, he asked, "Do you think we might go out of the house sometime? I made a list of some seeds and supplies I'd like to buy for the greenhouse. I could grow some vegetables for us to eat!"

Lupin smiled and poured himself a fresh cup of tea. "I'm sure we can arrange that."

"Harry might like it, too. It would be good for him to get outside, I think. At school he's not really the type to stay indoors so long. I bet he misses Quidditch." And Neville was off rambling again, Lupin pleased to listen to him.

After he had finished cleaning up from breakfast, Neville went upstairs and knocked at Harry's door. He had to knock twice before Harry called from within, "Come in."

Neville pushed open the door, but he didn't see Harry at first. Over by the desk, Hedwig flapped her wings and hooted a greeting, as if pleased to see someone friendly. She swooped over to land on his arm and give him a friendly peck on the ear before taking off again to perch on the end of the bed. Following her glare, Neville at last spied Harry sitting up in bed, still dressed in his pajamas. "You're not up yet?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm tired."

"I hope that wasn't because of me. I really appreciate you letting me sleep here last night."

"I said it was fine," said Harry, scowling slightly.

"Oh, right." Neville crossed the room and perched on the edge of the bed, giving Hedwig a friendly scritch on the head. Her feathers ruffled in pleasure at the attention. "So are you getting up now?" Neville asked Harry. "I'm going to go work on the greenhouse, and I thought you might like to come."

Harry glanced over at the books on his desk. "I don't know. I thought I might study today."

"Oh, come on, Harry! You can't stay indoors all day! Come up and see the greenhouse. It's great."

Harry's scowl deepened. "I'll do whatever I please. Why would I want to see some grubby old greenhouse?"

Neville recoiled at Harry's hostility, but he refused to give up just yet. "Lupin said we could go shopping for seeds and supplies. Maybe we could go to Diagon Alley. I need a new wand, you know --"

"Go shopping, then! Go plant a bloody banana tree! I don't care, just as long as you stop bothering me!" Harry threw himself back down on the bed and pulled the covers up over his head.

Neville just sat and stared at the covers for a minute, cheeks flushed in shame. He was never exactly certain where he stood with Harry, and he certainly wasn't used to dealing with him one-on-one. Maybe he had presumed too much. Perhaps Harry didn't want to have anything to do with him at all. That wasn't a very pleasant prospect, but Neville was rather used to it in his life.

He exchanged a melancholy glance with Hedwig, who hooted mournfully and tilted her head toward the lump that was Harry. Giving her a final scratch, he gently got up and left the room with as minimal fuss as possible. Out in the dusty hall, he contemplated his options. Company would be welcome right now, but if he sought out Lupin, the professor might ask him to help with research, and Neville didn't particularly care to place his shortcomings on display.

He sighed, desperately homesick. If he were home right now he could go for a walk in the countryside. Sunshine and a wide-open field never failed to raise his spirits. But London was not the same. He'd have to cultivate his own garden instead.

Resigned, he headed back to his room to retrieve the books he'd found in the library, then went on up to the roof to identify the plants in the greenhouse.

He stayed up there all day, coming down only for lunch. With the help of his books, he identified several of the plants. Some of them appeared to have primarily sinister uses, but others proved to be rare specimens that had Neville very excited. Unfortunately the only ones that were even remotely still alive were also the most dangerous.

He had scarcely touched the beds so far. He swept up the floor, accumulating a pile of broken glass, rotting vegetation, and assorted rubbish. By the time evening arrived, he was sweaty and gritty and happier than he'd been in a long time. He headed downstairs to wash up and change clothes before joining the others for dinner.

When he entered the kitchen, he found several members of the Order present, including Tonks. She waved enthusiastically at him, almost knocking Podmore's pipe out of his mouth. "How's it going there, old Neville? Hard at work on that greenhouse of yours?"

"Yes." He glanced around, spying Harry seated in a corner munching on a plate of chips.

Tonks pulled out a chair for Neville, and he sat down. "If we eat fast," Tonks said, "maybe we can pop up to the roof and I could help you a bit with the repairs."

"Um, Tonks," Lupin spoke up, biting his lip. "You know, it is a glass house."

"Of course!" she replied.

"That means it's made of glass."

"Well, what else would it be made of? Treacle tarts?"

"It's only that...you want to be a bit careful, there."

"Of course we do! But there might be broken bits about. We don't want old Neville to get cut, do we?"

"Indeed not." Giving up his cause as hopeless, Lupin turned to Neville instead. "Do be extra careful up there, you know."

"I will, Professor."

"I mean, extra, extra careful."

Neville and Tonks both nodded happily.

Still not quite reassured, Lupin appealed to Harry. "Perhaps you might go with them as well, eh, Harry?"

Fork halfway to his mouth, Harry froze. But he couldn't think of an excuse fast enough, so he muttered, "All right."

Tonks and Neville eagerly wolfed down their dinners and bid the others goodbye. With Harry following reluctantly in their wake, they trotted up the stairs to the roof, chattering about what plants Neville ought to try to grow.

When Neville opened the door to the roof, Tonks and even Harry were impressed. Wandering over to the wall, Tonks whistled. "This is grand! You can see for miles around." She leaned over the wall, so far that her feet came off the ground, revealing the mismatched boots beneath her robe. She dropped to her feet and winked at Neville. "This wall makes a perfect cover for a spot of nude sunbathing, right Neville? I bet that's what you're sneaking up here for."

Neville blushed furiously, looking anywhere but at her. "No!"

"Is this the greenhouse?" Harry asked, making an obvious attempt at distracting Tonks.

Cautiously moving next to him, Neville said, "Yes."

"It does need a bit of repair, doesn't it?"

Neville opened his mouth to defend his project, but Tonks beat him to it. "Oh, it will be just fine once we fix up that glass." She stepped forward, pushing her sleeves up her elbows and given her wand a few practice flicks. "You boys had better step back, though. Let me take care of this. Fenestra reparo!" she called out.

A shower of sparks burst from the tip of her wand and smashed into one of the panes, sending shards of glass everywhere. Neville and Harry flung their arms up, covering their faces to protect themselves.

When the tinkle of falling glass stopped, Neville cautiously lowered his arm to see that while the pane she'd been aiming at stood whole, sparkling like new, several of the surrounding panes had been smashed to smithereens.

"Hmm," Tonks said, crooking her hands on her hips as she surveyed the damage. "That glass must be more fragile that it looks." She picked her way across the shards of broken glass to inspect the panes more carefully.

Harry shot Neville a grin. "She's even worse than y--." His eyes widened in horror as he stopped himself just in time.

But Neville knew perfectly well what Harry had been about to say, and the fact that he'd had the same thought himself didn't make it any better. He scowled. "You know, you don't have to stay up here, Harry. Tonks and I can take care of this ourselves. I know you're not really interested."

Harry gulped hard, and he almost looked hurt, but Neville didn't really care right then. Ignoring Harry, he moved to join Tonks.

She managed to control her enthusiasm and, with a bit more practice, her ratio of panes repaired to panes destroyed improved. Neville cleared away the ones that didn't survive, and after watching them for a few minutes, Harry quietly joined them.

"A green thumb is a good skill to have, Neville," Tonks said as she sought out another pane to fix. "Plants have all kinds of good uses. I'm no good at it, though. I can't even grow weeds."

Neville smiled. "I bet you could. It's not really that hard once you get the knack."

She blew a lock of orange hair out of her eyes. "Nice of you to say, Neville, but I'm hopeless. You, though, I bet you're an ace at potions."

Carefully avoiding Harry's gaze, Neville focused on picking up some broken glass. "Not really."

"No?" Tonks asked in surprise. "And you so good with plants and things? You're just being modest."

"No, I'm not."

"It's Professor Snape."

Neville looked up to see Harry standing behind him.

"Snape's --." Harry caught himself, picking his words carefully. "Snape's hard on all us Gryffindors."

Tonks scowled in sympathy. "Slimy Snape. He never did like me, either. I always got the feeling he'd just as soon boil me in oil as mark one of my potions." Then she seemed to realize she was insulting a fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix, a member who was probably downstairs at that very moment. "Still, he's a good mate and all. I mean, on our side. And, um." She stopped, unable to think of any more glowing praise.

Abandoning that train of thought, she turned to Neville. "So you're a Gryffindor, are you? I had you pegged for a Hufflepuff."

Neville stared down at his toes. "Lots of people do."

"Too bad. You know us Hufflepuffs. Tenacious as badgers! We never let go!" She gritted her teeth together and growled in a display of ferocity. "Still, Gryffindors aren't so bad, even though you lot aren't exactly --." She tapped the side of her head with her wand tip, giving them a wink. "I mean, no offense, but Gryffindors aren't much for deep thinking now, are they?" 

Neville and Harry exchanged an indignant glance, not sure what to say to that.

"Well!" Tonks said. "I think we've got time for a few more panes before I have to go to that meeting." She rolled up her sleeves again and got back to work.

It quickly became apparent to Neville that they would never fix the greenhouse this way. Too many panes were irreparable or missing altogether. And Tonks's track record of breaking as many panes as she fixed didn't help matters. "I think," he said at last when Tonks paused between spells, "that our best bet would be to get some plastic sheeting. Though it's not really necessary at all, I suppose. We'll only be here through the summer anyway."

Tonks scratched her head and contemplated the greenhouse. "You know, maybe you're right. Well, I ought to get down to the meeting. I'll leave this to you lot, then. See you later, Neville. Bye, Harry." With a final wink at them, she pulled open the door and headed inside.

For a moment they just stood there staring after her, then Harry's lips quirked in a grin. "I like her. She's a bit of a nutter, but she's fun."

"Yeah," said Neville, wondering whether Harry intended his comment as a kind of roundabout apology.

Nudging aside some glass with the side of his shoe, Harry cleared a path to the door of the greenhouse. He opened the door and peered inside, but it had grown too dark to see anything, and he did not enter. Looking over his shoulder he asked, "So what's in there?"

"Plants," said Neville.

Harry grinned. "I could figure that out, even if I am just a stupid Gryffindor."

Neville ducked his headed and looked away, hoping Harry wouldn't say anything about Tonks thinking he should have been a Hufflepuff.

But Harry's attention had returned to the greenhouse. "What I meant was, is there anything alive in there?"

"Not really anything you'd want to keep," Neville said, poking at some dead leaves with his toe. "Mostly bugs and things. It'll be a lot of work fixing the place up."

Abandoning the greenhouse, Harry crossed the roof to one of the walls and leaned over it. "Wow! This is pretty cool! You can see right into everyone's backyard." He turned back to Neville. "You don't think they can see us, do you?"

"No, the concealment spell should keep us well hidden."

"Even Tonks and all of her --?" Harry waved an imaginary wand in imitation of her spell casting.

"Yes. No one should be able to see or hear anything as long as we remain on the premises." Neville forgot sometimes that Harry had grown up with Muggles.

"So you could be nude sunbathing up here and no one would see you?"

"I have not been nude sunbathing!" Neville protested.

Harry grinned. "I'm just kidding."

Neville buried his hands in his pockets. He was starting to regret inviting Harry up here if he was just going to make fun of him. "It's getting chilly," he said. "I'm going to go inside."

He turned on his heel and stomped toward the door, not checking to see if Harry was following him or not. He pulled the door open and entered, but the door stayed open. Harry was indeed right behind him. They walked silently down the hall and on to their floor. Neville walked straight past Harry's door to his own room. He didn't bother to say goodnight, but as he entered his room he saw Harry out of the corner of his eye watching him as he stood in the hall.

That night Neville enjoyed a perfectly harmless dream about finding a hidden room in Grimmauld Place that was as full of candy as Honeyduke's. He had just polished off the fizzing whizbees and was just starting in on the sugar quills when someone knocked on the door.

"No one's here!" he called out. The knocking persisted, and he tried again, "We're closed!" But his visitor refused to go away.

Slowly Neville was dragged from sleep by the awareness that the knocking was real. "Oh, bother," he muttered as he climbed out of bed and stumbled to the door, opening it to find Harry standing in the hall.

"Um," Harry said. He gave Neville a hopeful look.

Neville just stared at him, not really awake yet. "What?"

"I, um." Harry frowned. "Well I...I had a dream, too. You know."

"Oh," Neville said. Then his brain finally started to function. "Oh. Right. You, er -- you want to come in?" He held the door open wider.

But Harry made no move to enter. "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all."

Harry's face relaxed slightly. "Thanks."

Neville returned to his bed and climbed under the covers. Harry followed him, but remained standing at the side of the bed. "Would you prefer me to --?" He gestured toward the chaise longue.

"Don't be silly," Neville said, stifling a yawn.

After a moment's hesitation, Harry slid into bed next him.

Neville started to drift off to sleep, hoping he could find that room again, when Harry's voice cut through his drowsiness.

"I'm sorry I haven't been very friendly," Harry said. "I just wasn't too keen on anyone else being here."

Neville frowned in the dark, wondering if that made him a nobody.

"It's been...kind of a hard summer," Harry continued. "But I'm glad you're here now. You're the only one who could understand."

Neville was awake now. He didn't quite know what to make about Harry's confession. "Understand what?"

Harry's head turned to face him. "You were there. You saw what happened, what Lestrange did to -- to Sirius. And to you. You know, I bet you and I are the only students at Hogwarts who've had an Unforgivable cast on us."

"Aside from Moody's class you mean," Neville said quietly.

"Right." Harry was silent for a minute. "I remember what you said at the Ministry."

Neville's brow wrinkled. "What did I say?"

"When I was alone with the Death Eaters. But suddenly you were there. You said I wasn't alone. At first I was angry that you were there. I wanted you to stay with Ron and Hermione and the others where you would be safe."

Where I wouldn't mess things up, you mean, Neville thought.

"But I'm glad you came. I wouldn't have made it without you. I'm glad you were there, and I'm glad you're here now."

"But I broke the Prophecy."

"Yes." Harry hesitated. "But you kept them from getting it, didn't you? That's what really matters."

Neville chewed on his lip, thinking about that. He was so used to getting in trouble for breaking things that it had not occurred to him that his destruction of the Prophecy might have been a good thing after all. "Well," he said, "in that case, I guess I'm glad I could help."

He heard a little chuckle in the dark. "You did help," Harry said. "You've helped me a lot. Thanks, Neville."

"You're welcome," said Neville. What else was there to say?

Harry did not reply, and after a while Neville guessed he must have fallen asleep. But he lay awake for a long time, listening to Harry's breathing and thinking about what the other boy had said.

A/N: New chapters on Mondays and Thursdays! 


	4. Chapter 4

Since he was in London, Neville planned to visit his Gran at St. Mungo's on Mondays and Thursdays. He'd seen her, of course, when they'd brought her to the hospital, but today would be his first visit since he'd come to Grimmauld Place.

At breakfast, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and placed it on the table before Lupin. "Professor? I wrote down a list of supplies I need for the greenhouse. I was wondering if after we go to visit my Gran, we could go shopping?"

"That would be fine," Lupin replied, glancing at the list.

Harry looked up from his toast. "You're visiting your Gran today? Would it be all right if I come, too?"

Neville frowned slightly. He hadn't been expecting that, but he wasn't sure how to refuse. "If you want," he said. He tried to make it sound like visiting Gran was a chore. Which was true.

"It's only--," Harry's mouth twisted. "I'd like to get out of the house, is all."

"All right."

When they had finished eating breakfast and all the dishes had been washed and put away, they flooed on over to St. Mungo's. Harry had wanted them to go by "tube" instead. Apparently it was some kind of Muggle equivalent of the floo network, but it didn't sound very safe to Neville. What if someone really fat got stuck in this "tube" and blocked it up? He thought flooing sounded much safer, and Lupin agreed, despite Harry's protestations.

When they arrived at St. Mungo's, they stopped in the gift shop so Neville could buy some flowers and a box of candy, then headed down to Gran's room. They found her sitting up in her bed, reading through a paperback novel titled, "_Detective Dumphrey and the Case of the Burglaring Banshee_." A three-foot-high tower of similar paperbacks teetered precariously over her on the nightstand next to her bed, and she was surrounded by vases full of flowers.

As soon as she saw Neville, she scowled. "Honestly, boy, not more flowers! I would expect you to have more sense than that. I feel like I'm deep in the heart of the Amazon jungle as it is."

"S-sorry, Gran. I brought some candy, too. Do you want that?" He cautiously held up the box.

"Oh, that's splendid!" she said, happily taking the box. "The food here is ghastly. You'd think they were trying to kill me rather than make me better. What I wouldn't give for some decent clotted cream! You'll bring some next time, won't you, Neville? And a bag of my favorite pipe tobacco, too. Millicent Macawber brought the wrong brand, and I refuse to touch the stuff."

"I don't think you're supposed to smoke in hospital," Neville ventured to point out.

"Oh, pish-posh! They'll let me smoke if they know what's good for them. Now," she squinted at Neville's two companions, "who is this you've brought with you?"

"This is Professor Lupin, one of my teachers at school. I mean, he used to teach at school. He doesn't anymore."

Lupin extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Longbottom. I wish you a very speedy recovery."

"You and me both, young man," Gran answered, giving Lupin's hand a vigorous shake.

"And this is Harry, one of my classmates," Neville introduced. He didn't want to use Harry's full name, hoping that Gran wouldn't remember him. He got mighty sick of hearing how he ought to live up to the same standard as his famous classmate.

But he was out of luck. Gran's eyes narrowed as she studied Harry. "Potter, isn't it? Yes. We've met before."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry politely replied, shaking her hand.

"Well, well," Neville's Gran said, settling back against her pillows. "Potter. And a Professor Lupin. I hope Neville isn't causing you too much trouble."

"Not at all, Mrs. Longbottom," Lupin said. "On the contrary, he's already been a great help to us."

Gran's surprise couldn't have been greater than if he'd just told her Neville had been awarded the Order of Merlin. "He has?"

"Oh, yes. The place where we're staying needs a lot of fixing up, and he's doing an excellent job. And it's a pleasure having him around. He was one of my favorite students when I taught at Hogwarts."

The expression of shock on his Gran's face surely matched Neville's own, and he felt his cheeks flame in embarrassment.

Gran was actually knocked speechless for several seconds. "Surely you must be referring to Potter, there, Professor. Our Neville's not much of a scholar."

"No, I meant Neville," Lupin said, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Though I enjoyed teaching both him and Harry. I'm very proud of the two of them. They are fine students."

Once again, several seconds passed before Gran could find her voice. "I see. Well, that's very kind of you to say, Professor." Struggling to regain her composure, she turned to Neville. "Let's see that you give the professor no reason to change his opinion of you, boy."

"Yes, Gran," said Neville. Now that his initial shock had worn off, he had to fight to keep an enormous grin from swallowing his face.

Picking up her book again, Gran said, "You're going to see your parents, aren't you, Neville?"

His smile faltered. "Yes, Gran."

"Well, then, get along with you. And don't forget the tobacco next time. And the clotted cream." She turned her cheek to him, and he gave her a quick kiss.

They left the room, and as soon as the door closed behind them, Neville said, looking at the floor, "You two don't have to go with me, you know. There's a tearoom on the fifth floor. I can meet you there later."

"Actually," Harry said, "I'd like to go with you if you don't mind." When Neville gave him an inquiring look, Harry blushed and murmured, "I don't have any parents to visit."

Neville felt a bit of sympathy for him, and nodded his assent. It was odd, to feel sorry for Harry Potter.

They headed upstairs to the fourth floor in silence. When they reached the residents' ward, Lupin said, "I'll just wait out here for you boys."

Neville smiled gratefully up at Lupin before pushing the door open. Harry followed close behind him, and they walked down the short row of beds. In the very last bed, a man lay flat on his back, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. In a chair next to him sat a woman with frazzled hair, methodically shredding a tissue.

Trying not to think about Harry seeing his parents like this, Neville timidly approached the woman. "Hi, Mum. It's me, Neville." She ignored him, focused on pulling small pieces from the tissue. "What's that you're working on?"

"Must be destroyed," she muttered, and he noticed the remains of several tissues scattered around her feet like snowdrifts. "All of it gone, gone, gone. Not here, no."

"You're looking very pretty today, Mum. Would you like me to brush your hair for you?" He reached for the brush on the bedstand, but his mother grabbed for it instead, shrieking, "Mine!"

Neville winced. "Yes, Mum."

But at least she was looking at him now. Her eyes studied him frantically, as if trying to read a message carved into his face. He knew she recognized him, but he didn't know if she knew who he was, other than a boy who came to visit her every so often. Her scrutiny was intense, but he liked it. It made him feel like he was important to her somehow. He was aware of Harry standing at the foot of his father's bed, watching silently.

She reached out a skinny hand and tugged on his shoulder. With a sigh of relief, he knelt down on the floor before her so she could brush his hair. She pressed heavily on the brush with such fierce strokes his scalp would ache for hours afterward, but he relished these moments of strange intimacy. He didn't care how silly he must look to Harry. Let him say something about it. Neville would punch his lights out, even if he _was_ the Boy Who Lived. He refused to look at Harry, not wanting whatever expression might be on his face to interrupt this moment.

"Remember when I came here earlier, Mum?" he asked, grunting slightly as she tugged on his hair. "Gran fell and broke her hip. She's here in hospital, too. Has she come to visit you?" He didn't expect her to answer, but he liked to talk to her anyway. "There's a greenhouse at the place where I'm staying. I'm going to fix it up, and I'll grow some flowers to bring you. Not store-bought flowers. Ones I'll grow myself. I hope you'll like that."

His mother had set down the brush and was now picking through his hair with her fingers, like a monkey grooming him for lice. He usually liked that, too, but it was a little too embarrassing with Harry watching. "Thanks, Mum," he said, standing up, "but I want to talk to Dad now." He sat on the edge of the bed, but his mother followed him, continuing to pick through his hair.

He took his father's hand between his own. His father rarely moved, and he never spoke. Neville didn't know what exactly had happened to his parents. No one ever told him. Nor did they tell him about his parents' current condition, what treatment they were given, or what their prognosis was. All anyone ever said was that it was pointless to hope for recovery.

It seemed like he ought to know something, as if someone had told him once, but he'd forgotten. The harder he thought about it, the more that elusive knowledge slipped from his grasp, but it always danced there, just on the edge of his memory. It was surely important. It seemed like if only he could remember what it was, maybe it would help his parents somehow.

He rubbed his father's hand, wishing just once he could hear his father's voice. "How have you been, Dad? I'm afraid I have some bad news for you." He had a confession to make, even though he doubted his father understood anything he said. But it seemed wrong not to tell him. "I broke your wand. I'm really sorry, it was an accident. I hope you're not too disappointed in me."

"It wasn't an accident!"

Startled, Neville looked up to see Harry standing at the side of the bed, looking at his father with an urgent, almost desperate expression on his face.

"It wasn't an accident, Mr. Longbottom!" Harry said. "It broke when Neville was fighting against the Death--"

"Harry!" Neville interrupted.

Harry shot him a glance, then looked back at Mr. Longbottom. "He was helping to protect people. He was saving people's lives. You should be proud of him, Mr. Longbottom. Your son's a hero!"

Neville didn't know what to make of this declaration, but his father had not even blinked an eye. He wished his father could hear and understand. He felt tears stinging his eyes, and fought to hold them back.

"James?"

Neville looked up to see his mother staring at Harry. "James," she said again, as if she were noting something in passing. "James James James James James."

Neville twisted around to see the stricken look on Harry's face. He turned back to his mother. "That's not James, Mum, that's Harry."

But she continued to mutter "James" in a sing-song voice, and she beckoned Harry to come to her. Neville watched as Harry edged his way around the bed toward her, moving slowly like a sleepwalker. "James James James," she repeated. She dug into the pocket of her robe and then extended her hand toward Harry. He reached out, and she dropped a gum wrapper into his hand.

A flash of anger shot through Neville's gut. That wrapper was his! Harry had no right to it!

Harry stared in surprise at the wrapper in his hand as Neville's mother moved closer, still calling him James. She raised her hands and gently combed her bony fingers through his hair. Neville watched, seething at the tender display. She was _his_ mother. Those caresses belonged to _him_.

Harry stood mutely before her, like a small animal not sure whether to stay still or to bolt. A strange longing burned in his eyes, one Neville recognized well: the longing of an orphan boy for a mother's love. Neville didn't know whether to shove him away or feel sorry for him.

His mother continued to stroke Harry's hair and call him James. She brushed the hair back from his forehead, uncovering his scar. At the sight of it, all three of them froze.

Then her eyes widened, and she began to scream.

Her high-pitched, full-lunged screams split the quiet of the room as she stared at the scar, pointing with a rigid arm. The shrieks rose in volume as the other patients in the room screeched, too, alarmed by the racket. Harry stumbled backward, bumping against the bed, but Neville's father didn't move a muscle.

"Mum!" Neville cried out, seizing his mother's arm and trying to calm her down. "Mum, it's all right!" But she kept screaming, and the sound echoed terribly in Neville's skull, as if he'd heard screams like this before. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "Mummy!" he sobbed. "Mummy, please!"

He felt hands on his shoulders, pulling him away, but he refused to let go of his mother. Someone pried his fingers off her arm, and he was dragged out of the room, his own desperate cries all but drowned out by the screams of the patients around him, his mother's shrieks the loudest of all.

They stood in the hallway, Harry huddled against the wall, and Lupin holding firmly to Neville's arm to keep him from escaping back into the room and returning to his mother. Around them, a stream of nurses and orderlies filed into the ward, and someone cast a silencing charm on the door so the screaming could not be heard in the hall. Neville desperately wanted to know what they were doing to her. In all his years visiting his parents, he had never seen her react like that. He couldn't bear to imagine what demons were locked in her head.

"I'm sorry, Neville!" Harry whispered, "I'm so sorry." Neville looked up to see Harry, his eyes wide and haunted, and he realized Harry was almost as distraught as he was. Any anger he still felt toward Harry for upsetting his mother melted away, and he just felt tired.

Lupin asked Harry, "What happened?"

Rubbing his arms as if he were cold, Harry said, "It's all my fault, Professor. She saw my scar and started screaming."

Lupin's eyes darted to Harry's forehead. "She must have recognized what it was."

"She kept calling me James."

Sadness crept over Lupin's features. "Yes. The Longbottoms knew your parents well. They were good friends." He glanced down at Neville, who stood slumped against the wall. "Are you all right?"

Neville nodded, though he didn't feel all right at all. "I'm just worried about my mum. Is she okay?"

"I'll check on her for you," Lupin offered, and he slid back into the room.

Harry looked at him, his expression pained. "I'm sorry, Neville."

"It's not your fault," Neville said, and he meant it. Harry hadn't put those demons in his mother's head.

They said nothing more until Lupin returned. "Your mother has calmed down now, but I think it's best we end your visit." Both boys nodded in weary agreement.

Lupin sighed and straightened up. "Let's be getting home, then." And he led them down the hall so they could floo home.

When they arrived at Grimmauld Place, the boys trudged wearily upstairs. Neville paused at the door to his room and turned to Harry, biting his lip. "Harry...could I have that wrapper?"

"Wh-what wrapper?" Harry asked. But his hand clutched in his pocket.

Anger burned in Neville's stomach at the lie, and he advanced on Harry. "You know, the one my mother gave you."

Alarmed, Harry took a half-step backward. "Why do you want it?"

"What do you care?" Neville snapped. "It's just a piece of rubbish."

"Then why should I give it to you?"

Neville couldn't believe Harry was actually fighting with him over it. "Because it's supposed to be mine."

"But she gave it to me."

"Harry!"

But Harry stubbornly kept his hand in his pocket. Exasperated, Neville threw open his door and entered his room. "Look," he said as he stomped across the floor and fished a box out of his desk drawer. He flipped open the lid, revealing hundreds of wrappers stuffed inside. "It may look stupid to you, but they're the only things she gives me."

Harry remained silent for a long time, staring at the box full of wrappers as if mesmerized. Then he gave a loud sniff and looked away. "I don't have a mother to give me anything." His voice sounded hoarse.

At that, Neville felt a little ashamed of his selfishness. With a deep sigh, he said, "All right, you can keep it if you want."

Slowly Harry pulled the wrapper out of his pocket and stared at it. "No. It's yours. You should have it." He handed it over and watched as Neville carefully tucked it into the box. "How many do you have?"

"Counting this one, two hundred and eighty-three."

"Wow." Harry reached for the box, then stopped himself. "Can I take a look at them?"

"Sure." Neville picked the box up, and they settled on the floor where they would have room to spread them out. He pulled the wrappers out by groups. "They're sorted by the year she gave them to me, so don't mix them up."

"Right," Harry said, carefully leafing through one of the bundles.

Neville pulled a wrapper off the top of one bundle. He turned it over and handed it to Harry. "Look here. She wrote on this one." The back of the wrapper was covered with childish scribbles written in violet ink. "She only wrote on a few. And here's another one that still has some raspberry creme on it." He showed Harry the special wrappers, telling their stories.

"I don't see any chocolate frogs here," Harry commented as he browsed through the stacks.

"No, we don't give her chocolate frogs. She lets the frogs get away, and the hospital staff got tired of stepping on them. And she tears up the cards. I don't know why. She likes Droobles Blowing Gum and Zordo Zots best."

Harry studied the wrappers in his hand. "These look like they have letters scratched off."

"Yes. Always the same ones, too. P-H-L-E-M. Phlegm. I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Harry's brows furrowed. "Isn't there a G in 'phlegm'?"

"Is there?"

Harry spread the wrappers out on the floor. "Maybe she's trying to spell something else."

"I don't know," Neville said. "What would it spell? Melph? Lemph?"

"Help?"

Neville froze. "But what about the M?"

Harry studied the wrapper again. "Hang on. There are two E's scratched off." He looked up at Neville. "_'Help me'_."

A chill spread through Neville, and his heart pounded loudly in his chest. "That's not funny, Harry."

"I'm not trying to be funny." Harry sorted through the wrappers. "Look: it doesn't matter what kind of candy it is, all the same letters are scratched off. H, E, L, P, M, and another E. That can't be coincidence."

Scarcely able to breathe, Neville stared at the wrapper in his hand. DROOB ES B ST BLOWING GU - T E BUBBL S THAT WON'T OP. He whimpered, "Mummy." How could he have been so stupid?"

"Did she ever scratch off any other letters?"

Harry had to ask the question twice before Neville heard him. "Yes. But only once," he answered slowly. As if moving in a dream, he picked up a stack that was five years old and carefully pulled out one wrapper. AG N LY M NTS - HEN Y U NEE A BOOS .

"D-R-O-F-I-W-O-D-T."

They pored over the letters, arranging them over and over again, but could come up with nothing that made sense using all the proper letters.

At last Harry said, "I still think it's a message about the food. WIRD FOOD. That makes sense. Hospital food is always pretty weird."

"But weird has an E in it: W-I-E-R-D," Neville spelled. "And you didn't use the T."

"It makes more sense than your FOR TWO DID. For two what did what?"

"Well, at least I spelled it correctly."

Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Maybe she made a mistake, left out a letter, or scratched off the wrong one?"

"Or maybe it doesn't mean anything," Neville said bitterly. "Maybe it just means she's a nutter."

Harry stared up at him in shock.

"Well, she is, you know. No point in pretending otherwise. They say my parents will never get better."

"It can't just be chance, though. These others - I'm sure they say 'help me'."

"But no one _can_ help her, can they? If the doctors at St. Mungo's can't help her, who can?"

Harry fell silent, lowering his eyes to stare at the wrappers. Neville fumed, wanting to snatch the wrappers away from him, as if Harry were committing an act of blasphemy by looking at them. What did Harry know, anyway? His parents were dead and gone. They didn't linger on in a travesty of life that robbed them of all the heroism and nobility they had once possessed. Neville knew his parents had been heroes, every bit as much as the renowned Potters. But he had only ever known them as a silent, unblinking man and a manic, compulsive woman.

Tears stung at his eyes, but he was damned if he would cry in front of Harry. Angrily, he began to gather up the wrappers, replacing the bundles in the box. Harry lay on his stomach on the floor watching Neville in silence, but Neville refused to meet his gaze.

When the last of the wrappers was packed away, Harry said, "I'm really sorry about your parents, Neville."

Neville turned his face away to stare at the wall. He didn't want Harry's sympathy, wanted to throw it right back in his face, but he couldn't. Not when Harry was even more of an orphan than Neville was.

"Maybe," Harry ventured, picking at a worn spot on the carpet, "maybe we should show Lupin the wrappers."

"No." He didn't want Lupin to see either the lunacy of his mother, or the lunacy of their theory.

"Well, we definitely ought to show Hermione when we visit the Burrow tomorrow. She's as smart as any professor. If there's any meaning in it at all, she'll figure it out."

Neville considered this. After all, Hermione had seen his parents at St. Mungo's before, and she had never, ever made fun of him. Maybe it would be all right to tell her. He shrugged. "Okay."

"Right then." Harry pushed himself up and got to his feet. "I think I'm going to go read for a while. I'll see you later, all right?"

Neville nodded, without enthusiasm. He stared at Harry's shoes. Harry just stood there for a while, then the shoes finally turned and walked out of the room, leaving Neville to sit on the floor and think about as little as possible.

A/N: Updates Mondays and Tuesdays.


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as Neville stepped out of the fireplace, coughing from the ash and dust that had flown up his nose, a hand started pounding on his back. "You all right there, mate?"

"Ron, stop beating on the poor boy!" Neville blinked and stared up through teary eyes at Mrs. Weasley, who smiled apologetically at him. "I'm so sorry about that, Neville. We really must clean out that chimney."

"It's all right, Mrs. Weasley," Neville gasped, wiping at his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Neville!" another voice called. "It's so good to see you!"

"Hi, Hermione."

"I'm awfully sorry about your grandmother. Is she all right?"

Neville shrugged.

"Rotten luck," Ron agreed. "Still, I reckon you and Harry are having a grand time staying at the Order's Headquarters, eh?" He shot Harry an enigmatic look. "Right in the thick of things, as opposed to being stuck out here..."

Harry scowled. "It's not as fun as you seem to think. In fact, it was downright boring until Neville showed up. At least you have company."

Hermione rolled her eyes and heaved a great sigh. "If you two are going to start fighting again, then have fun. Meanwhile, I'm going to show Neville around the place." She held out a hand to him. "Come on, Neville."

He glanced at the other two boys and then followed after Hermione. Still sullen, Ron and Harry followed Neville and Hermione as she took him through the house. Neville had never been to the Burrow before, but he instantly loved it. The house looked full and lived in: books, magazines, toys and games stacked all over the place, pictures and drawings papering the walls, Muggle items displayed on bookshelves. His grandmother would have had a fit at the untidiness of it all. The Longbottom house was almost as cluttered, but there was a methodical order to it, like stacks of museum artifacts waiting to be catalogued, as opposed to the well-used aura of the Burrow. Here things were strewn about because they were used frequently, unlike the hands-off policy in his own home.

The tour ended on the back porch overlooking the yard. "Your house is terrific, Ron," Neville gushed.

Ron shrugged. "It's okay, I guess. But it's not so much fun now, especially with Fred and George gone. It's just Mum, Dad, Ginny and me. Thank heavens Hermione comes to visit, or I would go crazy."

"And what am I?" Harry retorted.

"Oh, come on, Harry. You know that's not my fault. Mum thinks you're too much stimulation for me. You know: 'Ron needs his rest!'" he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. "I keep telling her I'm well enough for you to stay here for a while, but she won't hear of it."

"It's true, Harry," Hermione interjected. "He's at her about it ten times a day."

But Harry refused to be appeased. "I notice she doesn't mind you visiting."

"That's because I make Ron do his homework."

"You know how it is, Harry," Ron said, his cheeks flaming redder than his hair. "She's a girl."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry retorted.

Ron blushed even harder, turning almost purple with embarrassment. "It means - it means she's not always dragging me to the backyard to play Quidditch." When Harry only scowled further, Ron hastily added, "You know I'd rather play Quidditch with you! I mean - that is, I want both of you here, but Mum says I still need to rest, and girls are more responsible, and, um..." He trailed off in confusion, twisting his hands on the porch banister.

"We're really sorry, Harry," Hermione added. "We really wish you could be here more often."

"We?" Harry repeated, his eyes narrowing.

"Ron and I."

The threesome stood staring at one another, and Neville could sense the storm of emotions seething between them. For such good friends, they could be awfully volatile, and he only prayed they never learned about the betting pool Dean and Seamus ran at the start of every school term on when the first fight would start, who would split off from whom, and how long it would last. Maybe he should tip then off with his own prediction: less than one week for Harry to get into a row with Hermione and Ron.

"Um, so how is your health, Ron?" Neville asked, hoping to break up the tension. "You seemed to be fine by the end of term, but your mum said you'd had a bad week."

Ron shrugged. "She's always exaggerating."

"She is not, Ron," contradicted Hermione.

Some of Harry's irritation leaked away, and he looked a bit intrigued. "Did you have another one of those memories?"

"Yeah." Embarrassed, Ron scratched at his ear and looked across the yard. "This time it was about a witch who was trying to invent a time machine. It didn't work, though. When she tried to turn the machine on, it blew up. Don't know how her brain didn't get blown to bits along with it, though. It was kinda cool, really. She lived about a hundred years ago and used to date some Muggle named Archduke Ferdinand. Still, it was weird thinking I was a girl."

Confused, Neville asked, "How could that be your memory?"

"It's not really mine. It's from those brains I tangled with at the Ministry."

Hermione explained, "The Ministry keep the brains of important people because they want to be able to access their knowledge. When Ron fell in the tank, some of them passed their memories on to him. It took a while for them to start surfacing into his consciousness, but now they're coming more often. A representative from the Ministry comes by every week to document all the memories that Ron has recalled."

"It's a bloody bore, really," Ron said. "Most of the time it's about research people did on spells and potions and such. I don't understand any of it, but some people are always wanting me to try to remember all the details."

"It's fascinating, Ron," said Hermione, her eyes shining with the passion of a true scholar. "You're like a walking encyclopedia of some of the most brilliant minds in the past two centuries."

Ron rolled his eyes. "That's just what I've always dreamed of."

"But some of the memories aren't so...boring," Harry said quietly, and Neville saw genuine worry on his face.

"No," Ron agreed, his voice almost as quiet. "Some of the brains were criminals and dark wizards. Those get pretty scary."

Neville shivered. There were plenty of wizards whose brains he had no desire to peer into: Bellatrix Lestrange. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Or even Snape, for that matter.

"Your mum said you had a bad week," Harry said. "But this time machine witch doesn't sound so bad."

"Well, she was a bit dodgy, actually. Now I understand why people call them mad scientists. She had some pretty creepy ideas. And the blowing up bit at the end was a little intense."

"Sounds awful," Neville said.

Ron shrugged. "That's why mum doesn't want me to be overstimulated. It tends to bring out the memories. And you have to admit it's true, Harry. When you're around, things tend to get pretty...stimulating." He grinned widely, and to everyone's relief, Harry grinned back.

"Speaking of stimulating," Harry said, "Neville's got a mystery."

Ron and Hermione looked at him in surprise, and Neville said, "Harry, I'm not sure that's such a good idea..."

"But we talked about it yesterday."

Despite his evident skepticism that there could ever be anything mysterious about Neville, Ron looked intrigued. "Talked about what? What mystery have you got, Neville?"

"It's - it's nothing really."

"It's not nothing!" Harry protested. "Hermione can help. You know that."

"I can help, too!" Ron said. "I'm the one with all the extra brain power these days."

Taking a step closer, Hermione gently asked, "What's it about, Neville? Really, we might be able to help."

Suddenly Neville didn't want to share his "mystery" with them. The famous Gryffindor trio were always battling monsters and solving mysteries. But his parents weren't some problem for Harry, Hermione and Ron to fix. They were his parents.

"Come on, Neville," Harry urged. "You want to help them, don't you?"

"Help who?" Ron asked, even more curious.

Neville glanced at Ron, then back at Harry. He resented it, but Harry was right. He certainly wasn't clever enough to figure this out on his own, especially considering he'd been missing his mother's hidden messages for years. He wasn't the hero; they were.

He sighed, defeated. "All right. Do you have somewhere private we can talk?"

They trooped back into the house, Ron eagerly leading them to his turret room. Ginny, sprawled out on the couch with a book in her lap, looked up as they passed through the living room. "Where are you lot going?"

"Private conference," Ron curtly replied.

She sat up. "Hey, I was at the Ministry, too. Whatever it is, I should be a part of it."

"This has nothing to do with the Ministry, so go back to your 'Feminist Witches of the Thirteenth Century,' or whatever it is."

"Feminism started in the eighteenth century, you moron," Ginny shot back.

Mrs. Weasley appeared in the kitchen doorway, frowning in suspicion. "What did I hear about the Ministry?"

"Nothing, Mum."

She pointed a warning finger at her son. "I told you, Ron. No excitement, and that means none of your plots, or the boys will have to go home."

"It's not exciting, Mum!" Ron protested in frustration. "It's just Neville!"

Neville shot a furious glance at him, but Hermione stepped forward, conveniently treading on Ron's foot to shut him up. "Neville wants to get something special for his grandmother while she's in the hospital, Mrs. Weasley. We offered to help him think of ideas."

Mrs. Weasley studied them closely as if trying to make up her mind whether to trust them. At last she visibly relaxed. "That's very nice of you to help him. I'll think of ideas, too, Neville."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he stuttered.

She gave Hermione one last look that clearly said, I'm leaving you in charge, and turned back to the kitchen.

With a sigh of relief, the foursome trooped up the five flights of stairs to Ron's room. They shut the door behind them and settled into a tight circle on the floor. 

"So what's going on, mate?" Ron eagerly prompted.

Neville glanced at the eager faces surrounding him and took a deep breath. "You were all there last Christmas at St. Mungo's," he began. "You met...you saw my parents." All three of them nodded, their expressions suddenly grave. Neville found their quiet sympathy encouraging. Even though Ron and Hermione weren't orphans, they'd certainly seen more than their fair share of suffering.

He continued, "Every time I go to visit them, my mother gives me candy wrappers. I've been saving them for years because, because..."

"She's your mother," Hermione gently finished for him.

"Yeah." He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "Anyway, she always scratches certain letters off the wrappers, and yesterday Harry and I realized... Well, I mean Harry discovered it."

"We both did," said Harry.

"Anyway, the letters...they spell...they spell..." He couldn't continue. He couldn't bear to admit that he had missed such an important and obvious clue.

"They spell 'help me,'" Harry eagerly finished.

"'Help me!'" Ron repeated, mouth agape. "You mean your mum's been sending you a message?"

"And there's another one --," Harry continued.

"Stop it!" Neville angrily barked. "They're my wrappers! They're my parents!"

The others stared at him in surprise.

"Sorry, Neville," Harry said sheepishly.

Neville calmed himself before continuing. "She's always scratched off the same letters. But one time it was different." He drew the wrapper out of his pocket and smoothed it out before handing it to Hermione. "Be careful with it," he cautioned.

"Ron," Hermione instructed, already studying the wrapper, "get me a quill and paper."

Ron hastily obeyed, while Hermione stretched out on the floor, propped up on her elbows, poring over the wrapper. When Ron handed her a scrap of parchment, she carefully copied the letters down.

"It's got to mean something," Harry said, "but we couldn't figure out what."

Ron lay down next to Hermione and read over her shoulder, "Drofiwodt. Sounds Welsh or something. Is your mum Welsh, Neville?"

"No."

"Maybe it's Gaelic, then. Or Parseltongue!"

"It's not a language, Ronald," Hermione huffed. "It's an anagram."

"A what?"

"Honestly, Ron, don't you remember anything, even with your magnificent brain collection?"

"An anagram," Harry repeated, "like Ginny's diary in second year. 'Tom Marvolo Riddle: I am Lord Voldemort.'"

Neville flinched at Harry's casual use of The Name, and Ron paled. "Oh, yeah," he gulped. "I remember that one." He studied the paper again. "Well, at least this one doesn't have a V. But F sounds kind of like V, and the W could be an upside-down M..."

"Ron," Harry said, "why don't you just let Hermione work it out?"

"Hey, I was only trying to help!"

"Driftwood," said Hermione.

The three boys blinked in astonishment.

"You figured it out already?" Neville blurted out.

Hermione shrugged. "It was easy."

"But...driftwood?" Harry said. "That doesn't make any sense. Maybe it spells something else."

"No, Harry. That's the only word these letters spell."

"It might not be just one word, you know."

"Didn't you just tell Ron to let me work it out? I'm telling you, that's what it spells. That, and 'for two did.' But 'driftwood' makes more sense."

Neville couldn't help giving Harry a gleeful poke. "I told you it didn't mean 'wird food.'"

"But what is 'driftwood' supposed to mean?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Hermione mused, tickling the end of her nose with her quill, the way she always did when she was concentrating on her homework.

Neville quietly said, "It might mean nothing, you know. After all, my mother is crazy."

The boys gave him sympathetic looks, but Hermione said, "This isn't the work of a crazy person. It's far too deliberate. She must be trying to say something. We just have to figure out what."

Silence descended on them once more as they each considered the puzzle.

"Maybe...," Neville began, then stopped himself. After all, he wasn't one of the Gryffindor heroes.

But Hermione gave him an encouraging nod. "Go on. Any idea might help."

Neville swallowed. "I was just thinking...maybe there's some potion that uses driftwood as an ingredient?"

Hermione tickled her nose again with the quill. "It could be. I can't think off-hand of ever hearing that driftwood has magical properties, but that's probably the best place to start."

Neville blushed faintly. Maybe he had a bit of the hero in him, after all.

"Well," Hermione said, pushing herself up off the floor. "We're not going to figure it out just sitting around here. This will require research. And who knows, Ron? Your amazing super brains might actually come in handy."

Ron beamed up at her, and Neville noticed a rather besotted gleam in his eyes. He glanced quickly at Harry and saw that he noticed it, too.

"But we can all research it on our own," Hermione continued. "We shouldn't spend your visit reading through books."

"I don't see why not," Ron complained good-naturedly. "That's the way you always spend your visits here."

Hermione shot him a coy glance. "Not entirely."

A disgustingly silly grin plastered itself on Ron's face, and both Neville and Harry fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Thanks for showing us this, Neville," Hermione said, handing him back the wrapper. "We'll figure it out, I promise. Now, let's go back downstairs before Mrs. Weasley starts worrying about us."

They went downstairs and headed out to the yard, after Mrs. Weasley sternly warned them not to roughhouse with Ron. Ron rolled his eyes but said nothing. Ginny put down her book and followed them outside, and they all lay out on the grass to soak up the late morning sun. 

"If you were talking about DA business upstairs, you ought to tell me," Ginny grumbled. "I was at the Ministry. I proved myself."

"We weren't talking about the DA," said Ron.

Ginny shot a glance at Hermione, who lay stretched out on her back next to Ron. "It's not fair for them to leave me out. We women need to stick together."

"Oh, not more of that feminist rot, Ginny," Ron complained. "You shouldn't be reading that book."

Hermione thwacked him in the chest. "Don't be so chauvinist."

"I'm not! But she's always going on about male hegemony in the Weasley patriarchy."

"Oh." Hermione smirked at Ginny. "In that case, he's not chauvinist. He just doesn't understand all those big words."

"I do, too!" protested Ron, but no one believed him.

"What about you, Neville?" Ginny asked, suddenly turning on him. "You're in favor of feminism, aren't you?"

"Um, well - I guess so. I mean, considering my Gran probably is a feminist witch from the eighteenth century."

Ginny and Hermione snickered, Ron scowled, and Harry just gazed absently out at the pond. Neville noticed Harry's distraction and changed the subject in hopes of drawing him out. "This garden is great. Lots of useful plants and nice flowers. Maybe your mum will give me some cuttings. Harry and I found a greenhouse at Grimmauld Place. It needs a lot of repair, but we'll have it fixed up in no time."

"That sounds wonderful," Hermione said.

Ron smirked. "You'll be in good shape for herbology next year, Harry. Maybe you'll even rival Neville here as Sprout's class pet."

Harry concentrated on an ant that was crawling over his knee. "Yeah."

Propping himself up on his elbows, Ron asked, "So spill. What has been going on at Headquarters? You must know something."

"No, Ron. They shut me out. You know the routine: 'We must protect the Boy Who Lived. Can't tell him anything, even though Voldemort's rallying all his Death Eaters to kill him.'"

Neville gasped in shock, but the others didn't seem fazed by Harry's bitterness. They watched him with expressions of pity.

"Can't let the Boy Who Lived have any visitors," Harry continued. "Certainly can't let him have any fun, or help out in any way, even though he's faced Voldemort five times and lived. No, best to let him stay by himself and think about --." He cut himself short. The others stared silently at him. Not looking at them, Harry got to his feet and stormed off toward the trees edging the pond.

Hermione glanced at Neville. "I guess he's still having a rough time of it."

"Well, he has been rather moody," he replied.

Ginny snorted. "He should just get over it. I'd like to see him try being the baby sister in a family of six boys!"

"Ginny," Hermione rebuked. "He lost his godfather."

Ginny blinked her eyes several times, then lowered her gaze, thoroughly chastened.

Ron rolled over onto his stomach, resting his chin on his folded arms, and gazed after Harry. "Poor bugger."

Their concern for Harry touched Neville, and he felt like an intruder on their intimacy. Harry, the Weasleys, and Hermione formed their own little clan, and he had never been anything more than an interloper.

After a long, awkward silence, Ginny started asking Neville about his grandmother. He told her about his summer so far, Hermione and Ron asking the occasional question, but as they talked, they were all keenly aware of Harry standing among the trees on the far side of the pond, throwing rocks into the water.

They'd been talking for some time when an owl swooped down from the sky and hovered above them. Ron sat up and tried to snag the owl, who danced just out of his reach, beating her wings in irritation.

"Bloody hell!" Ron swore, clambering to his feet to chase after the owl. "That better not be another letter from Dean!"

"Let it be, Ron," Ginny warned, "or I'll hex you, no matter what Mum says!"

"Are you mad at Dean?" Neville asked Ron.

Ginny stood up, hands on her hips. "It's my letter, Ron!"

"Yours?" Neville asked in surprise.

Ron was jumping, trying to catch the owl. "Come here, you lice-ridden bag of feathers!" The owl swooped down and beat its wings about Ron's head. He yelped and fell to the grass, covering his head with his arms, and the owl dropped a letter into Ginny's hands and flew off, too annoyed to wait for a treat.

"Gimme that letter!" Ron yelled, crawling toward Ginny.

"Bugger off!" she shrieked back and ran away toward the house, letter in hand.

Neville watched her go and turned back to see Ron fuming. "Why's Dean writing to Ginny?"

"He wants to have his wicked way with her!" Ron growled. "Just wait 'til start of term! I'll beat him into a pudding!"

"You'll do no such thing, Ron," Hermione chided, a smile on her lips. She grabbed his trouser leg and tugged him down next to her. "Ginny has the right to fancy him. She told me she's planning on asking your mother to let him visit."

"What!" Ron squeaked.

She leaned close to him so that their shoulders touched. "If he comes, we could go on a double date."

Ron's mouth opened and closed like a grindylow gasping for breath, and he turned an extraordinary shade of magenta. Hermione bumped her shoulder against his, gazing up at him through her lashes, and Neville became acutely aware that three was definitely a crowd.

He stood up. "I, um, I think I'm going to go have a look at your garden, see what cuttings I might like." He cautiously backed away, but Ron and Hermione paid him no mind.

Eventually, Harry rejoined the others after he had walked off his irritation. It seemed to Neville as if Harry's moods were swinging more and more rapidly these days, and he didn't know how he could keep up with it. Throughout the rest of their visit, Harry sometimes calmed down enough to be agreeable and get along with the others, but then something would set him off again, and he'd go storming away into the bushes. At one point he got into a fierce row with Hermione over the state of his homework, and he stalked off to spend an hour in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley. After a while, it all became too much for Neville, and he escaped into the garden with Ginny, where he gathered plant cuttings while she told him all about the sexist origins of Hogwarts, and he wondered if she'd read it in Hogwarts: A History.

By the time evening rolled around, Harry was in a good mood again. Mr. Weasley and the twins arrived for dinner, and the meal passed with the kind of lively humor Neville expected after his years sharing a table in the Great Hall with flocks of Weasleys - a very striking contrast to the meals he experienced at home with Gran.

When it was time to leave, however, Harry grew sullen once more. Hermione would be spending the weekend at the Burrow, and Harry all but growled his farewell before stepping into the floo. Neville could see Hermione flinch at Harry's churlishness. He gave her a quick hug, thanked Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, said good-bye to Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George, and swiftly followed Harry back to Grimmauld Place.

Neville stepped out of the fireplace into the kitchen to Lupin's greeting. "Did you boys have a good day at the Burrow?"

"Yeah, it was loads of fun," answered Neville, but Harry only shrugged.

Glancing between the two of them, Lupin asked, "What did you do?"

Neville waited for Harry to respond. He merely shrugged again and said, "Stuff."

"Ah," said Lupin, and his expression altered slightly, and he looked just a bit more like the professor Neville had known in third year, benevolent but aloof. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourselves."

Staring down at his trainers, Harry muttered, "I think I'm gonna go upstairs and read." He headed out of the kitchen, and both Neville and Lupin watched him go.

When the door swung shut behind him, Lupin said quietly, "I'm sure he'll come round eventually."

"Yeah." Neville heaved a great sigh. "Well, I guess I'll go up and read, too."

Lupin nodded. "Good night, then, Neville."

Neville returned his nod and headed off to his room to feed Trevor.

Updates Mondays and Thursdays! 


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning Neville dawdled as long as he could before heading downstairs. When he pushed open the kitchen door, Harry and Lupin were already well into their breakfast. Harry looked up at him and mumbled, "Morning," around a mouthful of toast.

It wasn't the most enthusiastic of greetings, but then this was the first morning since Neville had arrived that Harry had actually appeared at breakfast. He cautiously returned the greeting and took a seat next to Lupin, where he concentrated on stacking his plate with toast.

"Since we didn't get to go shopping the other day," Lupin said, "I gave your list to Tonks, Neville. She'll be stopping by tomorrow with the supplies you need for the greenhouse." 

Neville perked up at the news. "Thanks, Professor."

"In the meantime, if you two boys don't mind, I could use your help on a project."

Now it was Harry who perked to attention. "A project? For the Order?"

Lupin answered with a faint, knowing smile. "Yes. Dumbledore wants to do some research on the creation of new spells, ones that may counteract some of the spells favored by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, like the Imperius. But the creation of magic requires special preparation. We need to make a laboratory."

"There's one here," Neville piped up, pleased that his voice wasn't shaking too hard from Lupin's use of The Name. "It's upstairs. I saw it when I was looking around the house."

His suggestion seemed to please Lupin. "Yes, that's the room Dumbledore wants us to use."

"But why here?" Harry asked. "Why not make the laboratory at Hogwarts? Hagrid always says there's no place safer."

"And in every other circumstance, he is correct. But you forget, Harry: some students at Hogwarts have connections to people who might be very interested in our laboratory."

"Like Malfoy," Harry scowled.

"Among others. Hogwarts is safe from invasion, but alas, it is not safe from spies or gossip. Grimmauld Place, however, is guarded by the Fidelius charm. We know that only those who are trustworthy may enter it."

"So how do we create a magic laboratory?" Harry asked.

"We start," Lupin smiled, "with a little bit of elbow grease."

"You have got to be joking."

They were standing in the middle of the laboratory, and Neville silently echoed Harry's sentiments. The place was filthy: stacks of bottles with goodness only knew what crud caked in them; a layer of dust half an inch thick coating everything; cobwebs as think as cotton wool strung from every vantage point. There were even some suspicious-looking lumps in the corners that might be dead animals.

"I never said it would be easy," Lupin quipped. "But you boys don't have to help me. You could just do your homework instead."

"I want to help," Neville hastily said.

Lupin grinned. "There's my man."

"Me too," Harry protested. "It's just - it's an awfully big task."

"Then we'd best get started, hadn't we?" Lupin rolled up his sleeves and clapped his hands. "Let's start in this corner. We need to go through everything, keep what is useful, and throw the rest away. Then we need to clean the whole place until it's shining."

Reluctantly pushing up his sleeves, Harry glanced askance at the dust-covered mess. "Are you going to spell it clean?"

"Can't do that," Lupin replied, beginning to pick his way through a stack on one table. "Any spells we do now would only make the purification harder. When the place is clean and we've gathered everything we'll need, then the room will have to be purified of all previous traces of magic. Old, lingering spells could interfere with the creation of new ones, especially when those spells are likely to have been dark magic. The Blacks, you know, weren't exactly the most pleasant of wizards."

Peering into a bottle of congealed goo, Harry said, "Except for Sirius, of course."

"Of course," Lupin agreed, though his voice was a bit flat. "But even Sirius inherited some of the Black family's foul temper and penchant for egotism."

Neville cast a nervous glance at Harry, who had tensed, but Lupin continued fondly, "He could be a right stubborn bastard, and he could throw a fearsome tantrum when he didn't get his way. The only person I ever knew who could get Sirius to change his mind was your father, Harry. Unfortunately, James usually liked all of Sirius's ideas."

"Wait a minute," Neville interrupted. "You mean you knew Sirius, and Harry's dad?"

"Yes. We were best friends at school. The three of us - and Peter Pettigrew. I never had such good friends, either before or since. Now...well, I guess there's really only me left."

He seemed very sad, and Neville said, "I'm sorry, Professor."

Lupin shook himself. "Thank you, Neville. They were the truest friends anyone could ask for. After all, not many people would choose to stay friends with a werewolf."

Neville started at that. He'd forgotten about the rumors from the end of their third year. He hadn't wanted to believe what people had whispered about Lupin, but Ron and Harry had said it was true. "I always thought werewolves were really scary," he confessed. "But you aren't scary at all. You're the best professor I ever had."

Lupin smiled. "That's very high praise, coming from a Hogwarts student who has many fine professors. However, people have good reason to fear werewolves. During the three nights of the full moon, I am quite scary. Lycanthropy is a very serious, very dangerous condition."

Neville gulped. "So what - what are we going to do when...?"

"Don't worry. It'll be taken care of. I'll be confined, and someone else from the Order will come to stay with you. You'll be quite safe."

They focused for a while on their cleaning. But Neville simply couldn't reconcile the kind, caring man he knew Lupin to be, with all the horror stories he'd ever heard about werewolves. "So you were a werewolf by the time you went to school?"

"Yes. I was bitten when I was six years old. It's a miracle the werewolf that bit me didn't kill me."

Neville gasped. "When you were only six? How awful! To be just a child and have to go through that!"

"Indeed. I'm afraid it proved to be a bit too much for my parents to handle, to have their first-born son turn into a dangerous wolf cub every month."

"What did they do?" Harry asked.

Lupin busied himself with a stack of moldering packets. "They felt, understandably, that they couldn't take care of me. There is no cure, after all, and the wolfsbane potion hadn't yet been invented. They had to think about the safety of my younger brother and sister, so they had me institutionalized."

Both boys gaped in shock. Harry found his voice first. "Institutionalized! What does that mean?"

"I was sent to St. Mungo's. I actually grew up in the ward where your parents live now, Neville." 

"But how could they do that?" Harry protested. "How could your parents abandon you?"

"What else could they do? They couldn't take care of me --."

"Yes they could! You're their son! They shouldn't have abandoned you. That's ghastly!"

For a moment Lupin seemed to struggle to find words. At last he said, "I know it's hard for you to believe, Harry, but not all parents are as loving as James and Lily were."

Neville could believe it. He knew perfectly well what it was like to be a disappointment to his family, though right now he wouldn't trade Uncle Algie for Lupin's parents for anything in the world. To get them off that unpleasant subject, he asked, "How did you get to go to Hogwarts, then?"

"Dumbledore. He knew of me, and he made a deal with the Ministry of Magic to place me under his guardianship. He made arrangements for me during the full moon and gave me a full scholarship. He even arranged it so I could stay at Hogwarts over the summer, rather than go back to St. Mungo's. I owe him everything. My parents weren't too pleased about it, though. They ended up sending my brother and sister to Durmstrang so they wouldn't go to school with me. I don't think they even know I exist."

"You're better off without them," Harry said fiercely.

"I agree with you there. Still, it would have been a lonely existence for me at Hogwarts if your dad and Sirius and Peter hadn't befriended me. Growing up at St. Mungo's, I'd never really had any friends."

"I never had friends before school, either," Neville said. "My gran thought I was slow, so she home-schooled me. She didn't really let me get to know other kids."

"And Dudley made sure I didn't have any friends," added Harry. "My first friends were at Hogwarts."

"You know, the three of us are a lot alike," Neville said slowly. "We didn't have friends, and none of us grew up with our parents."

"Yes, but the two of you still have your friends," replied Lupin. "You can be thankful for that."

"I'm your friend!" Neville protested.

Harry added, "I am, too. The three of us can be our own gang, just like the Marauders."

"Well, not quite like the Marauders, I hope."

"Right. None of us will turn out to be a traitor."

"That, too, but I meant that I hoped we wouldn't get into as much trouble as the Marauders used to."

Neville wasn't sure who these Marauders were, but with Harry in their gang, he was sure they'd get in trouble.

"Well, what should we call ourselves? The Orphans Welfare League?"

"I like that!" Harry grinned. "We'll be OWLs! My aunt and uncle are always threatening to send me to an orphanage. Now I can tell them I'd love it if they did!"

Lupin laughed. "What do you say, Neville?"

Neville hesitated. He wasn't exactly an orphan. Then again, neither was Professor Lupin. And he did want to look out for the welfare of both Lupin and Harry. "Sounds good to me."

"The Orphans Welfare League it is, then. I think this calls for a celebration. What do you say we go out for lunch?"

Harry grinned, and Neville said, "Thanks, Professor!"

Lupin laughed and clapped them on the back. "How many times do I have to tell you, Neville: I'm not your professor anymore. Instead, since we're all fellow orphans, I think you should start calling me Remus."

They flooed over to Diagon Alley, but Lupin didn't take them to the Leaky Cauldron. Instead, he took them to a place that had been a favorite haunt of the Marauders when they were at school.

"Help yourselves to whatever you want, boys," Lupin said as they studied the menus. "It's my treat. Though technically speaking, Harry, you're paying, since the money I have belongs to you."

"What?" Harry asked, his spiky head peering over the top of his menu.

"Padfoot withdrew all his money and signed it over to me in order to keep his accounts from being seized, but you're his heir. It belongs to you. For that matter, so does the headquarters."

Neville's eyes goggled at that, but Harry looked unhappy. "But I don't want it. I don't need it. You do."

Lupin shook his head. "No, Harry, it's yours."

"Then I'm giving it to you."

"That's very generous of you, Harry, but it's too generous. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, I do!"

Lupin pressed his lips together. "Well, now is not the time to discuss it."

With the matter dismissed, if not settled, they turned back to their menus and ordered lunch. It was a pleasant, sunny day, and they sat at one of the outdoor tables where they could watch the crowd go by.

It seemed that back-breaking, filthy work agreed with Harry. While they had cleaned out the laboratory, Harry's gloomy mood lifted, and he was more talkative and friendly than he'd been all summer. Out in the sunshine and fresh air, his good mood continued, and he and Neville chatted away while Lupin listened, a smile brightening his normally careworn face.

Somehow Neville and Harry got off on the subject of Umbridge and what an awful teacher she'd been. It took Lupin a little while to relinquish his accustomed role of responsible adult, but before long he began regaling them with tales of the teachers from when he'd been in school.

They were just starting in on their dessert - a mountainous ice cream sundae - when a voice that Neville dreaded above all others interrupted them with a sneer.

"Good afternoon, Lupin," said Professor Snape, as Neville squeaked and dropped his spoon. "Out with your two young and very vulnerable charges, I see. Is that really prudent?"

Lupin smiled pleasantly up at Snape. "I hardly think that an occasional trip to Diagon Alley presents much risk. Young boys get impatient with being cooped up day in and day out, especially during the summer holiday."

"As you no doubt are personally very well aware," Snape said. "Nevertheless, you cannot be too cautious these days."

"Indeed not. With that in mind, perhaps you'd care to join us for dessert?" Lupin helpfully indicated an open chair. "With both of us present, I'm sure the boys will be safe from attack."

Snape arched an eyebrow at that, his lips twisted into something that almost resembled a smile, or at any rate a smirk, and for one terrifying moment Neville thought he might actually accept. Fortunately, the unnatural expression on Snape's face transformed into a more familiar sneer as he turned his attention to Neville and Harry. "Potter, Longbottom, I trust you're keeping up with your summer assignments? Though I doubt that either of you scored high enough on your OWLs to qualify for my advanced-level class."

"I'm afraid I've commandeered some of their time to help on that project Dumbledore asked me to work on," Lupin said.

Snape seemed genuinely shocked. "Are you sure that's wise, given how important that project is? Longbottom in particular can't so much as boil water without causing a major explosion."

"Actually, I was thinking of putting him in charge of the purification ritual. It would be an excellent opportunity for him to learn."

Snape leaned over the table, and Neville shrank back reflexively, even though for once Snape's baleful eye was not cast in his direction. "This project is too crucial to be botched up by your charitable impulses, Lupin."

"Indeed." Lupin's voice was cool, but underlaid with steely resolve. "But Dumbledore put me in charge of the project. If you have concerns about how I'm handling it, you can bring it up at the next meeting."

"Rest assured, I will." Snape glanced quickly at Neville and Harry, and the air grew several degrees cooler, as if a dementor had just walked by. "Enjoy your ice cream, gentlemen."

When Snape had left, Neville felt like he could breathe again. Panicked, he turned on Lupin. "You can't put me in charge!" he squeaked.

Calmly returning to his ice cream sundae, Lupin asked, "Why ever not?"

"Because - because Snape's right! I'll mess it up!"

"And why would you do that?" Lupin said pleasantly. "You heard him. This project is important. I know you won't be careless."

"But I'm - I'm clumsy. Everyone knows that."

"Do they? Then they must know something I don't, because I never experienced you as clumsy in my class."

"That's only because you never yelled at me."

"In that case," Lupin smiled, "if I want you to do well on this project, I shall have to remember not to yell at you."

"But Professor, I can't do this all by myself."

At last Lupin put down his spoon. "I never said you had to, Neville. This isn't for marks; you don't have to do your own work. I simply want to put you in charge. That means enlisting whatever help you need in order to get the job done. Harry here is well aware of the importance of having good assistance to count on. And since I am ultimately in charge of the project, you will have to present all your plans to me for final approval. I'll certainly notice if you miss anything important."

"But - but Snape - ," Neville sputtered, at a loss as to how to convince Lupin. He'd never had to protest against someone's good opinion of him before. "And - and besides, my Gran always says I'll never amount to much."

Lupin scowled. "Neville, there comes a time when you must stop listening to what other people say and make up your own mind. Do you want to amount to something?"

"Y-yes," stammered Neville uncertainly.

"Then will you accept the charge of this purification ritual? If you think it's too much for you, you'd better refuse." Lupin's brows drew together in a frown. "But know this, Neville: I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you were capable of it."

Neville looked anxiously to Harry, who no doubt knew his limits better than Lupin did. But Harry merely smiled at him and nodded eagerly. Uneasiness curdled in his stomach. He didn't know why anyone would place such an important task in his hands. But then...he had done well at the Ministry, hadn't he? Tonks admired the way he'd stabbed Macnair in the eye, and Harry himself had praised Neville for breaking the Prophecy rather than let the Death Eaters get it. And he'd done well in the DA lessons with Harry. For that matter, he'd earned an E in Lupin's class. Maybe Lupin was right. Maybe he could do the job.

Swallowing down his doubts and trying to sound confident, he looked up at Lupin. "All right. I accept."

"Excellent," Lupin beamed. "Now let's finish our ice cream before it completely melts into soup."

Updates Mondays and Thursdays. 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The next morning they were just finishing up the breakfast dishes when they heard a loud crash in the drawing room.

"Sounds like Tonks has arrived," Lupin quipped.

Moments later, the kitchen door banged open, and the young auror appeared, her robefront stained with dirt. "I'm afraid there's a bit of a mess in the fireplace. The bag of guano caught on one of the irons and ripped." She sneezed, raising a cloud of fine dust from her robes. "That stuff's pretty fragrant, Neville. Couldn't settle for an ordinary bit of dirt, could you?"

"I'm afraid not. Professor Sprout says Madagascar fruit bat guano is the best fertilizer in the world."

"Well, you're the expert." She sneezed again. "And I got everything else on your list, too. Seeds and all. You'll have a right proper garden soon enough."

"Thanks," said Neville. "But it looks like I won't have much time to work on it. We need to get that laboratory cleaned up."

"Oh no," said Lupin. "We'll need your garden, Neville. We can buy what herbs we need, but they're much more potent when they're fresh. So by all means, work on your garden. We won't be ready for the final stages on the laboratory until August's full moon."

"Full moon?" Harry asked, his expression anxious.

"Yes. After we clean and purify the room, it will need to be consecrated. We'll be drawing on new magic and binding it to the room to create a convergence that will be conducive to the preparation of new spells. Magical currents are at the height of their power during the full moon, so that's when the final rituals will take place."

"But the full moon - you'll be..."

"I won't be taking part in the final ritual," Lupin explained.

Harry was crestfallen. "But --."

"That's the way it has to be, Harry."

He didn't seem to be satisfied, but Lupin was right: there was nothing to be done about it.

Turning to Neville, Lupin cheerfully suggested, "Why don't we all go work on the greenhouse while it's still morning? Then after lunch when the day has grown hotter, we'll come inside and work on the laboratory. What do you say, Tonks? Care to help us?"

"I'd love to! Just so long as I don't have to mess with that guano." And she gave a lusty sneeze.

So they hauled the supplies up to the roof. The others all looked to Neville to tell them what to do. It was a strange experience to be considered the expert at something, but even he couldn't deny that he knew more about gardening than the others. So he put Lupin and Tonks to work at rigging the tarpaulin over the greenhouse while he and Harry began mixing guano and soil enrichers into the beds. It was a pleasant morning, and Lupin, Harry, and Neville relished the opportunity to work outdoors.

As she tied the edge of the tarpaulin to the greenhouse frame, Tonks said, "You boys will have taken your OWLs, right? I expect you're all worked up about your marks."

"I'm trying not to think about it," Neville muttered, and Harry nodded.

"What profession are you interested in?" Tonks asked.

Harry answered, "I want to be an auror, like my parents."

"Excellent choice, if I do say so myself," said Tonks, beaming her approval. "We'll be colleagues! And you've certainly got it in your blood. Your parents were the best, they say. Yours too, Neville. Do you want to be an auror as well?"

"I might," said Neville, with more than a bit of pride. In truth, he'd never dared hope he could be an auror. Certainly he had enough people telling him he could never hope to aim that high. But Lupin seemed to think he was competent, and Harry kept talking about how crucial his help had been at the Ministry. Neville would have never admitted to anyone before that he might aspire to being an auror. Then again, he didn't have to be one just because his parents had. "I don't really know exactly. I haven't made up my mind yet."

"That's smart. Keep your options open. Maybe you'll be a potions brewer, what with all this herbology expertise. Or you'll research spells to fight You-Know-Who. Between you and Harry, the old boy had better watch out!"

If anyone else had said that, Neville would have though he was being teased. But Tonks appeared genuine in her praise. He'd never before been surrounded by so many people who thought he could be good at something. It was a nice feeling.

Tonks finally finished tying off the section of tarpaulin and started on another. "So do either of you have any particular lady friends?"

Neville hastily busied himself mixing soil, leaving Harry to stammer, "N-no."

"No! What about you, Neville?"

Cornered, Neville blushed and said, "Um, no."

Tonks gaped. "Two good-looking blokes like yourselves, and you haven't a girlfriend between you? I'm shocked. In my day, Gryffindors were always scoring, and I'm not talking about Quidditch."

"Tonks!" Lupin reprimanded.

"What? Wasn't that true when you were at school?" She flashed him a coquettish grin, and it seemed to Neville as if her features changed slightly, her lips a bit fuller and more red, her eyelashes longer. "I bet you had a different girlfriend every week."

To Neville's surprise, Lupin blushed. "I-I just don't think that's an appropriate topic of conversation."

"Oooh, that wild, were you? You devil." Did Tonks actually growl? "But these two are good, red-blooded British lads. I'm sure they're thinking about it all the time, even if they aren't seeing much action. When I was that age, everyone knew Gryffindors were always good for a shag."

"Tonks!"

"I mean snog."

"Be that as it may, you're not that age anymore. You are considerably older." He gave her a warning look.

"Oh. Right. Set a good example and all that." She imperiously cleared her throat. "Just remember, boys: keep your trousers zipped, and you can't go wrong."

Harry and Neville exchanged embarrassed smiles.

"And my other piece of advice to you is this," she added. "Never shag a Slytherin, because she'll only turn around and tell the other girls how big your --."

"Tonks!" Lupin barked.

"-wand is." She turned to Lupin and gave him the most artfully innocent look Neville had ever seen, and given that Fred and George Weasley were in his house, he'd seen quite a few. "Why, Remus," she drawled. "What did you think I was going to say?"

Throughout the rest of the day as they worked on the greenhouse and then the laboratory, they chatted and joked together. Tonks was the most talkative, of course, and whenever the conversation lulled, she could always be counted on to bring up a fresh topic: Hogwarts food, teachers, and classes; auror training; Quidditch teams; the Weird Sisters' latest album. She even managed to sneak in the occasional tidbit about Order of the Phoenix business, though Lupin put a stop to it whenever it got interesting. He may have been a fellow member of the Orphans Welfare League, but he never forgot his role as responsible adult in the house.

It was the kind of chitchat that Neville had always just listened in on before. At home he eavesdropped on his grandmother talking with adult friends and family members. At school he would make himself as unobtrusive as possible and listen to his classmates gossip around him. He learned a lot by keeping quiet and paying attention.

But here the others did not allow him to stay out of the conversation. They kept drawing him in, asking his opinion, laughing at his jokes. And when he said something, they sincerely listened to him. It was a novel experience, and he found he liked it.

By the end of the day, he was starting to believe he really could accomplish anything he set his mind to, even the task that Lupin had appointed to him. So after supper he retired to the library to read up on magic purification. Harry went with him to help, and they spent an hour or two pulling books off the shelves and browsing quietly through the pages, jotting down notes as they read. 

Neville was engrossed in a treatise on banishment charms when Harry sighed loudly and removed his glasses. Rubbing at his eyes, he said, "I haven't found anything at all on driftwood."

Surprised, Neville looked across the mound of books lying open on the table. "I thought you were reading up on exorcism."

"I was, but I got sidetracked."

Neville lowered the book he'd been reading and chewed on his lip. "I wonder if their medical records might give us a clue."

"Can you get hold of them?" Harry asked.

Frowning, Neville turned his quill over and over in his hands. "I'll make sure I do." 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

The next day was another visiting day for St. Mungo's. During the night, Neville had resolved to get a look at his parents' records, but he didn't really have a plan in mind. All through breakfast he fretted about whether he wanted Harry and Lupin with him to back him up. After all, while the hospital authorities might easily dismiss an insignificant kid like himself, surely they wouldn't say no to Harry Potter. And in the extremely remote chance that they did - well, Lupin was an adult and would get results.

But when they arrived at St. Mungo's and were in front of the reception desk, Neville changed his mind. He had to learn to stand on his own two feet. And besides, if his request fell on deaf ears, he didn't want Harry and Lupin around to witness it.

"Um, would you two mind terribly waiting for me in the tea room? I think today I'd like to visit my family on my own."

Lupin gave him a kind nod. "Certainly. We'll see you later." Harry smiled at him, and they headed toward the lift.

With a resolute sigh, Neville turned to the receptionist. Trying not to appear as ridiculously young as he felt, Neville said, "Ma'am? My parents are patients here, and I'd like to take a look at their medical records."

Barely sparing him a glance, she asked, "Their names?"

"Frank and Alice Longbottom. They're on the fourth floor resident's ward."

Her head bobbed up, and she stared at him. "Ah, yes. And how old are you, young man?"

"I'm fif-sixteen." Almost.

The receptionist frowned primly. "I'm afraid only their legal guardian is allowed access to their records, and that would be your grandmother. You're too young, dear."

"But I'm their only son," he protested. "I have a right to see those records."

"Not until you're eighteen, you don't." And without another word, she turned back to the paper she'd been reading.

Neville's heart sank within him. That was always the way things turned out with him: denied, dismissed, ignored. It was his fate in life. His shoulders drooped, and he headed for the lift.

He pressed the button to call for the lift, but just as the doors opened, he turned back to the receptionist. "If my grandmother gives me permission, then can I see the records?"

The receptionist's head bobbed up again. "With her consent, yes."

The doors slid closed on a very happy Neville Longbottom.

His grandmother's first words when he entered her room were: "Did you remember my clotted cream?"

Neville ducked his head. "No. Sorry, Gran."

Mrs. Longbottom sighed and sat back against her pillow. "You can bring it next time. And Millicent finally got me the right tobacco. Now come over here and give me a kiss, boy."

Neville dutifully leaned over and pecked his grandmother on the cheek. "I really am sorry, but we've been very busy."

She squinted suspiciously up at him. "'We,' is it? Busy with what?"

"Harry and Professor Lupin and me. We're - uh, working on a project at the house. It hasn't been lived in for a long time and needs a lot of work."

"Well, it's good to hear you're making yourself useful. Just don't break anything."

Neville frowned. Why did she always have to say things like that? He hadn't broken anything. Lupin had been right: he'd spent too many years living up to other people's low expectations for him. Well, that was going to stop.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "Gran, I've been thinking about Mum and Dad."

"Have you now?" she asked absently as she opened a box of chocolates and offered it to him. "Try the ones with the nuts. They're hell on my digestive system." As Neville picked out a chocolate, she said, "And how are your parents doing?"

"About the same." He picked at a waxy lump mashed onto the blanket. It was probably a bit of Turkish Delight that someone had sat on. "I was thinking. Someday I'll be their guardian."

"You needn't worry about that just yet, boy" his grandmother muttered around a mouthful of chocolate. "A broken hip isn't quite enough to send me to the other side."

"I know, Gran. That's not what I meant. But someday I'll be their guardian. And I think I ought to prepare for that. I want to understand their...their condition, and what their treatment is." He licked his lips. It was uncomfortable to talk this way about his parents, as if they were the children and he were the grown-up, but he had to do it.

Fishing through the box for another acceptable chocolate, his grandmother dismissed, "There'll be time enough for that later. You're too young to concern yourself with that business."

He wasn't going to yell. He wasn't going to pout. And he sure as hell wasn't going to take no for an answer. "I'm almost sixteen, Gran," he said quietly. "I know it'll be two years before I could even legally be their guardian. And I'm sure there's a lot of it I won't understand. That's why I want to start now, so when the time does come, I'll be ready."

She tilted her chin up, studying him closely. He hated it when she scrutinized him like that, as if she were sizing him up and finding him wanting. But he would not be dissuaded, and he met her gaze with determination.

Her eyes narrowed, and then she nodded. "Bless me, boy. You've got Frank's own stubborn ways about you. Well, it's probably a good idea."

Her answer surprised him. He hadn't expected it to be so easy. "The staff said I have to get your permission since I'm underage."

"Oh, I'll give it, all right. I daresay you won't understand a word of that medical mumbo-jumbo - I don't myself. But you read up on it. It certainly can't hurt. It's just--." She reached out suddenly and took his hand between her own, her eyes sad. "Neville, dear. You do know they'll never get better? I've tried to protect you from it, and maybe that was a mistake. But no child should have to hear about his parents enduring such horrible things." She patted the back of his hand, and he realized that it must be just as hard for a mother to know such things about her son and daughter-in-law. "They were real heroes, and they loved you very much, dear."

Tears stung at his eyes, and he felt a jagged lump in his throat. He hated to cry about his parents. It made him feel so sad and hopeless, and with an old, familiar effort of will, he forced the tears back down.

His grandmother kept patting his hand, and it looked like she was enduring the same struggle. "Sometimes," she said softly, her voice low, "sometimes I wish they could have been...just a little less heroic."

"Me, too, Gran," he whispered, squeezing her hand.

After taking a few moments to compose themselves, Mrs. Longbottom summoned the chief nurse of the residents' ward, a skinny witch named Nettlethorne with a pointed face and an artfully cheery air that Neville had never liked. When Mrs. Longbottom explained the situation to her, her perkiness grew abruptly chill. "Now, now, that's a heavy burden to place on such a young child. I would strongly advise against it."

Mrs. Longbottom scowled and jabbed her pipe at the nurse's sharp nose. "Who're you calling a young child? Our Neville's almost a man grown. And anyway, it's my decision that matters, not yours."

Nurse Nettlethorne gave a high, frenetic giggle. "Of course, Mrs. Longbottom. But as a professional, surely my opinion counts for something, and I'm sure you would agree that this child - er, young man, doesn't need to be subjected to such unpleasant realities."

"Nurse Nettlethorne, you've been at the residents' ward for what, five years now?"

"Ten years, next September."

"That long, eh? And surely in all those ten years you've noticed our Neville coming to visit his parents month in and month out, year after year."

"Indeed I have, Mrs. Longbottom. Young Master Longbottom is a very devoted little boy."

Neville bristled at being called "little," and his grandmother gave a dissatisfied grunt. "In that case, I think you can agree that Neville has long been subjected to the 'unpleasant realities' of his parents' condition. In fact, he's been subjected to them longer than you have, as he's been coming here since he were two. And if he says he's ready to look at their records, then I say his opinion is the one that's expert on the question." Mrs. Longbottom sat back on her pillows and clamped her teeth around the stem of her pipe, as if she'd said all she had need to.

Nurse Nettlethorne's eyes darted rapidly from Neville to his grandmother, a vein throbbing rapidly in her temple. He'd never seen her so irritated. She forcibly calmed herself down and plastered her typical patronizing smile on her face. "Very well, Mrs. Longbottom. You'll have to sign a release form, of course. Then Master Longbottom will be able to come look at the files whenever he wants."

"I'd like to have a copy of the files to take with me," Neville piped up, "as I'm sure there's a lot to study."

The vein started throbbing again. "But--."

"Sounds wise, boy," Mrs. Longbottom put in. She quirked an eyebrow at Nurse Nettlethorne. "Bright lad, isn't he?"

"Erm - yes. Very well." She got herself under control once more. "Do you want the most recent records, or the oldest ones first?"

"The oldest, please. It's best if I start at the beginning."

"Quite so." She gave him a sickening smile. "Why don't you go visit your parents, and when you're done, stop by my desk and I'll give you what I can."

Neville returned her smile with a steely one of his own. "Thank you. And you can send me the rest by owl as soon as you get it."

"Now bring us that form, and be quick about it," said Mrs. Longbottom.

"Certainly," Nurse Nettlethorne replied. "By the way, Mrs. Longbottom, smoking is not allowed in hospital."

"Is that so? And what do you propose to do about it - kick me out? Now quit wasting my time, Nettlethorne, and get to work."

With a huff, the nurse left.

Neville smiled. "Thanks, Gran."

"Hmph. If you really want to thank me, remember the clotted cream next time. Now go visit Frank and Alice." And with that, she picked up her novel, puffing contentedly on her pipe.

"Patient was subjected to prolonged attack with Cruciatus. It is believed the patient was imprisoned for a period of five days before rescue, and in that time was subjected repeatedly to Cruciatus, but how often and for how long is not known. Since rescue, the patient is largely catatonic and unresponsive, though occasionally bursts into bouts of screaming..."

Only this wasn't just a patient: this was his father.

"Patient repeatedly tries to harm herself, attempting to gouge out eyeballs or inflicting severe bite wounds on hands and arms. Patient must be restrained to prevent serious self-injury."

It was his mother they were talking about. His mother.

Neville sat hunched over a table in the library of Grimmauld Place, Harry across the room reading up on purification spells. Mercifully, Harry had not asked to see the files himself, though he kept looking up from his book to check on Neville, his expression burning with curiosity. Neville resolutely refused to meet Harry's eyes, and his muscles ached from the effort of sitting still and not betraying his sick horror at what he read.

The files didn't say what had actually happened to his parents. No one really knew. But they described in great detail what state they'd been in when they were found, muscles cramped and twitching from prolonged pain, self-inflicted injuries, screaming, covered in feces and vomit. He didn't want to read any of it, but a sick curiosity compelled him to go on. He'd never known any of this, never known them as anything other than what they were now. In a strange, twisted way, the medical records were giving him more of his parents than he'd ever had before.

A report from the aurors who'd found his parents was included in the file.

"The Longbottoms were discovered in the home of Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, chained in the dungeon. The house was otherwise abandoned, and the suspects are currently being pursued. We estimate the Longbottoms had been tortured there for four or five days.

"They were first noticed missing when they did not report to work. Agents sent to their home discovered the Longbottoms' 23-month-old son amid scenes of struggle. The child may have witnessed the abduction, as he shows signs of severe mental distress. Family members have not been able to get the child to speak, and he is currently under observation at St. Mungo's..."

The file slipped from his nerveless fingers, papers spilling across the floor. Across the room, Harry looked up in alarm. "Neville?"

His name echoed hollowly in his skull. All he could think of was that he'd been there. He'd seen it, but he couldn't remember any of it. His parents had been kidnapped, maybe even tortured, right before his eyes, and he'd been too young to do anything about it.

An image of Bellatrix Lestrange as she'd appeared at the Ministry, as she appeared in his dreams, rose up in his mind's eye. Let's see how long you last before you crack like your parents.

Neville swallowed convulsively. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he whimpered.

Harry's eyes widened, and he jumped out of his chair. He found a wastebin in the corner and ran back with it, just as Neville lost his battle. He threw up in the bin, too ill to care that Harry was right there watching. Even when his stomach was empty, he continued to retch, tears streaming down his cheeks. Harry knelt next to him, rubbing his back.

"My parents!" he wept. "It happened right in front of me, and I couldn't help them!"

Harry paled. "Just like with me and my parents."

Neville looked up at him, blinking back his tears. "You were there? Do you remember it?"

"No. I was too young. I was only about a year old."

Neville pondered this as he struggled to get his crying under control. "I was about two. Is that too young?"

"I imagine so."

Wiping his eyes with his sleeve, Neville sat up and pushed the wastebin away with his foot. "I wish I could remember."

"I know what you mean."

"Harry," Neville said urgently, "you have to help me. I need to be ready to face her, so that next time she won't get away. I have to make her pay for what she did to my mum and dad. You have to teach me what spells I need and how to face her so I'll be ready."

Harry studied him, his eyes large behind his glasses, and Neville worried that he might refuse to help. But then he said, "I wasn't sure if I should show you this, but..."

"But what? Harry, if it can help me, you have to show me."

Harry nodded. "All right. Come with me."

He led Neville upstairs, and they entered one of the bedrooms Neville had found when he first explored the house. He looked around, wondering what was supposed to be able to help him here. "What is it?"

"Remember when I told you how I went looking for a portrait of Sirius? I didn't find one, but I did find... Neville, Sirius Black was Bellatrix Lestrange's cousin. This was his mother's room, and behind that," he pointed to a curtain on the wall, "is a portrait of Bellatrix. If you want to be ready to face her, you can practice on it."

Neville shivered but stiffened his spine. "Show her to me."

Harry approached the portrait and pulled on a cord. The curtains slid open, revealing the image of Bellatrix, looking younger and healthier but every bit as sinister. She fixed her baleful glance first on Harry. "Ah, Potter, Jr., back to visit me again. How sweet of you. We had so much fun reminiscing about my dear cousin." Her black eyes caught on Neville. "But who is this with you? Why, I do believe it's the little Longbottom. How perfect! Your parents were such dear friends of mine."

"You tortured them!" Neville shrieked, fists clenched at his sides.

"Oh, we were just playing. But your parents had no endurance at all."

"What did you do to them? Tell me!" Neville demanded.

"Neville," Harry cautioned.

Bellatrix cackled. "Such delightful perversion! You mean you want me to tell you what days of Cruciatus will do to a person? How they screamed until their vocal chords were raw? Such a strange, rasping sound. And they shat themselves -- very revolting. Really, your parents had no dignity at all."

"That's enough!" Harry shouted.

"No," said Neville, though he knew his face was pale, and his knees were knocking. "I want to hear it all."

"Neville, don't," Harry said, grabbing Neville's shoulders and pulling him away from the portrait. He tried to catch Neville's gaze as Neville kept trying to look around him at the portrait. "Neville, listen to me! This isn't the way you want to remember them!"

"I want to know!" Neville snarled.

"Trust me! You remember the year the dementors were at school? I kept fainting, because whenever they appeared I heard my parents' screams as they died!"

Neville froze. At last Harry had his attention.

"I wanted to hear it," Harry continued, "because I had no memory of my parents' voices. But that's no way to remember them, Neville. Now that memory haunts me. I know you love your parents, but believe me, don't ask for this. Especially not from her."

Wild laughter rang out from behind Harry, and they turned to see Bellatrix's portrait dancing with glee. "Wonderful! Two pathetic little orphans, courtesy of my Lord. So lonely that you get your jollies from your parents' pain. What model children you are. You dear things, I'd love to adopt you!"

"Like hell you will!" Neville shouted. "I'm going to hunt you down and find you, I promise! And I'll make you pay for what you did!"

"I look forward to it, Littlebottom. We'll have such fun together!"

"You'll be sorry! You'll regret you were ever born!"

Her beautiful face contorted in a snarl. "Don't threaten me, tadpole. I had many years in Azkaban where the dementors taught me pain games that will make what I did to your parents look like child's play."

Before Neville could reply, the door banged open, and Lupin ran in. "What is all this noise?"

"Wolfie!" the portrait shrieked in delight. "How good to see you!"

Lupin whipped out his wand and pointed it at Bellatrix. "Silencio!" The curtain whipped shut, and Bellatrix was gone. He turned on the two boys. "What in the world are you doing up here?"

"It was me, Professor!" Neville said. "I have to be ready to face her, and Harry showed me the portrait."

Shaking his head, Lupin said, "Boys, this is very foolish. Don't you realize that portrait can report to any other portrait of Bellatrix? Narcissa Malfoy is her sister! She could be telling the Malfoys anything she learns here."

"We didn't tell her anything," protested Harry.

"I have to practice! I have to be ready!"

Lupin looked between the two of them. "I understand that, Neville, but be realistic: if anyone catches Bellatrix, it will certainly not be you. And talking to her portrait is too great a risk. Now, promise me you won't come up here again."

Harry started to nod, but Neville said, "No. I won't tell her anything important, but I need to be able to come here. I have to be ready. Maybe I won't be the one to catch her, but who's to say she won't come after me herself? Or come after my parents? I need to be prepared to face her!"

Lupin and Harry both gaped at him. After all, no one had ever heard him contradict an authority figure before.

"All right," Lupin reluctantly agreed. "But do exercise caution. And don't torture yourself with her, Neville. You don't need that."

"No, sir." But Neville knew he couldn't shy away from torture. After all, Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't hesitated to torture his parents. He could expect no mercy from her.

Thanks for all the lovely reviews! 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

One day at supper Lupin said, "Boys, in case you haven't noticed, the full moon starts tonight."

Neville had not noticed, had in fact forgotten that Lupin was a werewolf. Now, however, he could see that Lupin looked even more drawn than usual.

"As I told you before, I'll be confined in the basement. It's been made secure, so you'll be perfectly safe. But I must stress again that under no condition should you try to come see me, even during the day. I'll be in no shape to receive visitors."

Neville shivered. "Why would anyone try to visit you at the full moon?"

Lupin scratched his chin and glanced at Harry. "I've had that kind of problem before."

"You'll be all right, though?" Harry asked.

"I'll be fine. Remember, this is all normal for me."

"But who is coming to stay with us?" Neville asked.

"Um, yes." Lupin fumbled with his teaspoon, not meeting their gazes. "Professor Dumbledore contacted me to let me know that...that Professor Snape has graciously agreed to come stay here."

Neville stifled a whimper, and Harry's jaw dropped. "Snape! Remus, it can't possibly be him!"

"He is the one who brews the wolfsbane potion, and he helped me through my transformations when I was teaching. He's probably the best qualified person to be here."

"But he hates us!" Harry exclaimed. "It'll be torture!"

Lupin frowned. "Well, Harry, it can't be helped, so you'll just have to bear it. He's coming here because I need it, so I'm counting on you to get along with him."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Harry grumbled, "That's impossible."

"This, coming from the boy who's faced Voldemort more times than most aurors? I know you don't like him, but believe me, I know all about having to deal with unpleasant things I don't like at all."

Harry appeared a bit sheepish at that.

"You are both competent, capable, mature young men. You don't have to hate him, Harry, and Neville, you don't have to fear him."

Neville studied the sandwich crust on his plate. He had faced Death Eaters at the Ministry. He'd faced Bellatrix Lestrange. Yet he'd rather go up against any of them than have to spend two days and three nights with Snape. Still, he would do it, for Lupin's sake. He offered a feeble smile. "I guess we're not in school, after all, so he can't take points from us."

As the evening wore on, Lupin grew increasingly restless and fidgety, while Harry and Neville were scarcely any more composed. They had just finished a tense dinner when they heard someone enter by the front door. The three of them sat up stiffly around the table. The kitchen door opened, and Severus Snape stepped in. He looked no more pleased to see them than they were to see him.

"Severus," Lupin said, shakily getting to his feet. "It's good to see you." He was the only person in the room for whom the statement might hold any truth.

Snape raised one thick black eyebrow and withdrew a flask from his robes. He silently handed it to Lupin, who uncorked it and hastily took a sip, grimacing as he swallowed. "That hits the spot. Well, boys, this is when I must leave you. I'll see you in a couple of days." He held their gaze in turn, giving them a warm, encouraging look.

"Take care, Remus," said Harry. "I think Neville and I may as well turn in, too." He looked hopefully at Neville. "Don't you think?"

"Oh, yeah," Neville hastily agreed. "I'm tired."

Harry looked relieved. "Um, good night, Professor Snape."

Snape sneered. "I'll be seeing you two gentlemen in the morning." He followed Lupin out of the kitchen.

The boys poked their heads into the hallway and listened as Snape and Lupin went downstairs to the basement. They could faintly hear a heavy door being opened, followed by a metallic rattling noise that sounded a lot like chains.

Harry turned a pale face to Neville. "Let's go upstairs before he gets back."

Neville nodded. "Um - Remus will be all right, won't he?"

"He'll be fine. After all, this has been happening to him every month since he was six. It's us I'm worried about."

The next morning, Neville woke to the sound of his bedroom door being opened. He groggily blinked up as Harry perched on the edge of the mattress, still dressed in his pajamas. "I heard Snape moving around downstairs," Harry announced.

With a groan, Neville pulled the covers over his head.

"I know," Harry muttered as he flopped down next to Neville. "I don't want to get up either."

"Can't we just stay up here?"

"He knows we're in the house. He might come looking for us."

Neville shuddered. The image of Snape appearing suddenly in his bedroom made his flesh crawl. The potions master's scowling face was not something anyone should have to see first thing in the morning.

"It's still early, though. I don't reckon we need to get up just yet." Harry yawned and turned onto his side, nestling into the pillow.

They dozed on and off for a few more hours until Neville's stomach rumbled loudly for breakfast. "I suppose we have to get up eventually," he apologized.

Harry slowly sat up, leaning back on his hands. "Might as well get on with it."

"For Remus, right?"

Harry grinned at him. "Right. For Remus."

They got up and dressed, meeting in the hall to go down the stairs together. They were relieved to find that Snape was nowhere to be seen, and they hastily fixed themselves some breakfast.

They had just settled down to eat when the door opened to reveal Snape staring disapprovingly down his beaked nose at them.

"So the two of you finally emerged from hibernation. No wonder the laboratory is still such a mess if you sleep half the day away."

"We've been working hard," Harry protested. Neville's eyes almost popped out of his head. He couldn't believe Harry had the audacity to talk back to Snape like that.

"Have you?" drawled Snape. "Well, I'll make certain you do today. That project is too important to permit such sloppy work. When you've finished eating your...brunch, I want the two of you to report upstairs to the laboratory. And Longbottom, I want to see your plans for the purification ritual."

"Remus has already checked the plans," Harry said, scowling. "He says everything is fine."

Snape raised one eyebrow. "We'll see about that. I expect you both upstairs in fifteen minutes." He turned on his heel and swept out of the kitchen.

"The nerve of him!" Harry fumed, waving his toast. "Handing out orders as if he's the boss. Dumbledore put Remus in charge, not that old bat!"

"B-but what can we do?"

"We'll just do what we've been doing. You don't need to worry, Neville. Remus said your plans were fine."

"I-I know, but S-snape..."

"Remember, you don't have to be afraid of him."

Neville gave Harry a skeptical look. "You're not supposed to hate him, either."

Harry hesitated. "Well, some things never change."

"Same for me."

With a lusty sigh, Harry said, "All right. If you try not to be afraid of him, I'll try --," he grimaced, "-not to hate him."

Neville ventured a tiny smile. "Okay. But I think you'll have a harder time of it."

Fourteen and three-quarters of a minute later they entered the laboratory to find Snape standing in the center of the room, arms across his chest, scowling into the corners as if he expected piskies to jump out at him.

"Your plans?" he asked, holding out a bony hand.

Neville sidled up to Snape and extended a roll of parchment, jumping when Snape snatched it from his grasp. "I'll look this over while you two finish cleaning in here."

"What?" Harry yelped. "But it's already clean!"

Snape gave an oily smile and pointed over their heads. "Not the ceiling."

"The ceiling!"

"How many times must I remind you how absolutely crucial this laboratory is in the war against the Dark Lord? Everything must be perfect. Do you want to ruin our chances because you can't bear a little hard labor?"

"We've been working hard!" Harry protested.

"Then a little more won't kill you!" barked Snape. "Scrub that ceiling down! And don't forget to disinfect it!" And before Harry could complain again, Snape stormed out of the room, Neville's parchment in hand.

While Harry sputtered and swore, Neville looked up at the ceiling. "It is rather grungy," he observed.

Harry shot him a dark look. "Oh, all right! Fine!"

They gathered the cleaning things and got to work.

"I've lost all feeling in my arm," Harry complained, rubbing at his shoulder.

Neville paused in his scrubbing, lowering his arm to let the blood drain back into it. "Maybe we should use a levitation charm on our arms. I don't think I can hold mine up much longer."

Harry smirked at him. Dried soap suds spattered his glasses, and both of them were drenched in dirty drip water. They'd been working all day, and they were almost done. But Neville had to admit, the ceiling had desperately needed cleaning. He'd thought the ceiling was brown, but underneath all the grime it had proved to be white. He'd be glad when they finished, though. Something about this room always made his flesh crawl.

"I bet Remus will be pleased," he said.

Harry let go of some of his irritation. "Yeah. We're doing it for him, anyway. And for the Order."

"All the same," Neville said, "maybe we should slow down. If we finish the ceiling today, he might come up with something worse for us to do tomorrow."

Rotating his sore arm, Harry grumbled, "What could possibly be worse than this?"

"Oh, I'm sure Snape could come up with something."

They grinned at each other, but before either of them could speculate further, the door opened.

"Still not finished?" Snape growled. 

The two boys flinched guiltily as the potions master studied their progress. "The chandelier is disgusting. I hope you don't think you're going to get out of cleaning it."

With a visible effort, Harry managed to answer civilly, "We wanted to finish the ceiling first, Professor."

"Hmmm." Snape's eyes flicked to Neville. "I've read your plans, Longbottom. Why are you using sage in the banishment charm? Jasmine is much more effective."

"Y-yes, Professor. But the jasmine has to be fresh, and we can't grow it in time. Sage grows faster, though."

Snape's brows furrowed. "Indeed. Well, at least you compensated for the substitution by adding essence of sandalwood. Otherwise your charm wouldn't so much as banish a dustmouse. And what possessed you to use ground bloodstone for the cleansing spell? Simple salt will do."

"I know. But Professor Lupin said the Blacks probably did dark magic here, so I thought it needed something stronger."

"Is that so?" But Neville thought he could almost see something like approval in Snape's expression. "Well, it's clear that you've had a lot of help. No doubt Lupin did most of the work."

"No," Harry smirked, arms folded across his chest. "He only made a couple of suggestions. Neville did it all."

"You helped, Harry," Neville quietly pointed out.

Snape's lip curled. "I hate to interrupt this meeting of the Mutual Admiration Society, but that ceiling is not finished. If you want to get done before bedtime, I suggest you get back to work."

Snape turned to leave, but before he could sweep out of the room, Neville called out, "P-p-professor!"

Pausing at the door, Snape turned back with a sneer. "Yes, L-l-longbottom?"

Taking a deep breath, as if he could inhale courage into his lungs, Neville said, "I-I was j-just wondering how Remus is doing?"

"That's Prof--." Snape caught himself, as if suddenly remembering that Lupin was no longer a professor, and for a moment he seemed at a loss to continue. Rallying at last he said, "You should refer to him as 'Lupin.' Such familiarity with adults is not to be tolerated."

"Yes, sir," Neville answered meekly.

"Lupin is well enough, considering his condition." Snape hesitated, long fingers tapping uncertainly on the doorframe. "Out of curiosity, how has his health been this summer?"

"Why should you care?" Harry shot back.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Oh, I assure you, Potter, I care a great deal. You see, the Headmaster has entrusted his health to me, and I am keenly interested in keeping him well. If he became too ill to look after the two of you, the Headmaster might ask me to assume that duty." He favored them with a predatory smile. "I'm sure none of us want that."

"No, Professor," Harry sneered.

Before Snape could rebuke Harry for his insolence, Neville piped up, "Has Remus - Lupin - been ill, sir?"

Snape's dark eyes swiveled to Neville. "Not ill, exactly. But since the death of his --," he paused, mouth twisting as if tasting what word would be most palatable, "-his associate, he has not been in full form."

There was a long, awkward silence. Neville didn't know how Harry would react to hearing Snape speak of Sirius, no matter how obliquely. To his surprise, Harry answered with a rather subdued, "He's been fine."

Snape scowled. "'Fine' is not the word I would use." His mouth snapped shut, as if he hadn't meant to say that, and he straightened up and glared imperiously at them. "Anyway, it is none of your concern. Now get back to that ceiling!" And pivoting sharply on his heel, he left.

For several moments after he'd left, the two boys sat silently on their ladders. At last Neville turned to Harry. "You don't think there's something wrong with Remus, do you?"

"He's fine," Harry grumbled, glaring at the door through which Snape had exited. "He just misses Sirius, is all. And why shouldn't he? That's not something a greasy old bat like Snape would understand. It's not like he's ever had any friends."

Neville said nothing, dipping his scrub brush into the soap bucket. Certainly he couldn't imagine Snape having friends, but he had seemed genuinely concerned about Remus underneath all his scorn. Neville wondered if he and Harry should be worried about Remus's condition.

Breaking the solemn air, Harry grinned at Neville. "But did you notice? He couldn't find anything wrong with your plan! You did really well, Neville!"

"He didn't like the sage."

"So? He didn't say it was wrong, either. I bet if it was for school, you'd get an O."

"But I did have help."

"I just helped you research. You're the one who put it all together. See? Remus was right, you can do a good job when no one's yelling at you."

Neville blushed. He didn't quite want to think that he could be competent. There was something a bit alarming about that thought. If he could do things, then people might expect him to do them, and that could lead to all sorts of things like responsibility and people counting on him. In some ways it was easier to be incompetent.

But he didn't want to think about it. Right now, scrubbing the ceiling suited him just fine. After all, any idiot could do that. "Let's finish the cleaning," he said, picking up his scrub brush and climbing back up the ladder.

"Sure thing, boss!" Harry grinned. 


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, Harry again crept into Neville's room. "I've been thinking," he said.

"Oh. Ha-ave you?" Neville yawned. All his muscles ached as he stretched, including muscles he didn't even know he had.

"I can't bear to go through another day of servitude to Snape. Can you?"

"Well...but what can we do about it?"

"We're not at school. He has no authority over us. And it's not like we haven't been working hard anyway. I say we reward ourselves. Let's go out and spend a day in the city."

Neville brightened. "That would be great! I can get some more plants from Meriwether's Nursery. I think I need more sage -."

"No, not Diagon Alley. Let's go to London."

"London? You mean - with Muggles?"

A look of consternation crossed Harry's face. "Yes, Muggle London. There's an awful lot of it, you know. How can you have visited St. Mungo's all these years and never been to Muggle London?"

"We just floo there."

"Well, we won't floo anywhere today. We'll take the tube. Regent's Park is nearby, that's a lot of fun. And the zoo! That's the first place I ever talked to a snake."

Harry's mind was made up, and however much Neville was skeptical about the idea, Harry would not be dissuaded. He made it sound really exciting, though, and Neville's curiosity was piqued. Perhaps hanging out with Muggles wouldn't be so bad after all, and Harry certainly seemed to know a lot about them.

With the plan in place, they parted ways in order to get dressed, meeting at the top of the stairs ten minutes later. They carefully crept downstairs and tiptoed their way to the back door. The drawing room door was ajar, and they could see Snape sitting in an armchair with his back to them, reading the Daily Prophet. They crept on by, and Harry slowly opened the door, both of the uttering silencing charms to keep it from squeaking. Their charms wouldn't have worked without their wands, but luck was with them, and the door opened silently. They slipped outside, Harry shut the door, and they ran through the backyard and out into the alley, not stopping until they had run to the end of the street, away from the house.

They turned the corner and collapsed against the wall, laughing at their escape.

"We made it!" Harry crowed. "We're free! We're free!"

"That was brilliant! He never even heard us!"

"I wonder what he'll say when he finds out we're not in the house?"

That caused Neville to sober up, and seeing him, Harry said, "Oh don't worry about it. What can he do? He can't take any points from Gryffindor. Anyway Remus will be back tomorrow."

"Right." Neville pushed his hands into his pockets and looked up and down the street. There were only a few people about, jogging or walking their dogs. "So what do we do next?"

"Let's get some breakfast," Harry suggested, grabbing Neville's wrist and leading him down the street as if he knew where he was going.

"But Harry, don't Muggles have different money?"

"Don't worry, I always change some at the beginning of summer and I've hardly spent any so far this year. I've got plenty for the both of us."

They walked on until they came to a busy street, cars whizzing past and people going through their daily routine of work and errands. Neville tried not to gawk, but it was strange being among so many people, and not a single robe or pointed hat in sight.

Harry found a restaurant for them, and they went inside. It looked bizarre: all bright colors and hard plastic tables and chairs. But instead of taking a seat, they went to stand in a line in front of a counter.

"What do you want?" Harry asked him.

"Aren't there any menus?"

"Up there." Harry pointed to a lighted board behind the cashier's heads, with pictures of food and funny names. Neville scrutinized the bewildering display. "What is that stuff? I've never heard of an 'egg mcmuffin.'"

"Don't worry about it," Harry laughed. "I'll just order for you."

The line moved quickly, and they found themselves at the counter with a cashier who had blue hair sticking out from beneath her cap. Neville wondered if she might be a metamorphmagus like Tonks. When Harry placed their orders, it sounded like he was speaking a foreign language. The cashier was little better. She asked, "Eat in or take away?" and Neville had no idea what she meant.

When Harry opened his wallet to pay, Neville squealed in excitement. "Oh, can I look at the money? I've heard they make it out of paper. How bizarre!"

The cashier gawked at him as if he'd just sprouted horns, and Harry elbowed him in the ribs, smiling to the cashier and saying, "Don't mind him. He's my cousin from Australia."

Her skepticism faded, and she gave him a bored nod. "Welcome to the U.K."

"Thanks," Neville said as Harry pulled him to the side.

The cashier placed little bundles of food wrapped in paper on a tray and pushed it toward them. Harry took the tray and led Neville to one of the hard plastic tables, where they took a seat and unwrapped their food. Neville took a bite of his little sandwich and instantly made a face. "Ugh! What is this supposed to be?"

"It's an egg mcmuffin. Like a muffin, with egg and sausage and cheese."

Neville pried his muffin apart and studied the spongy yellowish substance on it. "That doesn't taste even remotely like an egg."

"Well, it's... Okay, so fast food isn't the best in the world, I guess."

"Fast food? What does that mean?"

"It means they serve it fast."

He glanced again at his "mcmuffin." "I bet they grew the egg fast, too."

Harry laughed. "All right, all right! We'll go somewhere better for lunch."

Resigning himself to his breakfast, Neville reassembled his sandwich and took a bite. "Can I see that Muggle money?"

"Don't talk about Muggles and wizards, Neville. People might notice," Harry cautioned as he reached for his wallet and pulled out a few slips of paper for Neville to look at.

"Right. I'll try to remember." He inspected the paper. It was certainly very pretty with lovely pictures on it, even if they didn't move. Harry showed him the watermark, which Neville found delightful, holding the paper up to the light so he could study it, until Harry grabbed his arm and pulled it down.

"Cut that out. You look like a tourist."

"Sorry, but it's so pretty. I don't see why they use this as money, though. It seems like it would fall apart after a few years. And couldn't it get torn up?"

"They change the notes when they get old."

"Really? Who gets to keep the old ones?"

Harry looked as if he'd never thought of that before. "I don't know."

"So how many galleons is this worth?" he asked, holding up a note that said ten. "And why do they call it a pound? It doesn't weigh a pound. Even those little coins - they're so tiny."

"I don't know. What does it matter?" Harry dismissed. "Anyway, I think we should take the tube to Regent's Park and see the zoo. We can also go rowing on the lake. And you might like to visit some Muggle shops, or we could go to the cinema."

"The cinema! I'd love to see that! Dean's always talking about it. Can we see The Star War?"

"Star Wars," Harry corrected. "That's a really old film, it won't be playing anywhere." He paused. "I can't believe you've never seen Star Wars."

"How can Muggles have motion cinema, but their photographs don't move?" Neville asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. How come wizards have photographs that move, but they don't have motion pictures?"

Neville had to admit that neither of them made sense.

"Is there anything else you'd like to do?" Harry asked.

"Can we drive a car?"

"We're too young."

"You and Ron drove one."

"Yeah, well, we weren't supposed to, were we?"

"All right then, how about an aeroplane?"

"We'd have to buy tickets. That costs a lot of money. Look, why don't you just leave the planning to me?"

That certainly sounded best, as Neville had no idea what the possibilities might be. They finished their breakfast and then headed out to a tube station. Neville was gaining some confidence and gawked more openly at all the strange Muggle things around him.

He was disappointed to learn that the "tube" wasn't really a tube at all, just an underground train. He got stuck going through the gate, and Harry had to rescue him. A great rush of wind heralded the arrival of the trains, and when their train stopped, the door opened and courteously advised them to mind the gap. Neville politely answered, "Thank you," only to have Harry poke him in the ribs.

Seats lined the walls of the train, but some people simply stood, hanging on to poles. The train started before they had found a place to sit, and it accelerated so quickly, Neville was almost knocked off his feet. Harry caught him with one hand while he grabbed onto a pole with the other. "Sorry about that," Neville muttered. He gained his balance and wrapped both hands around the pole, just below Harry's hand.

The train jerked to a stop, almost throwing him off his feet. While the train was motionless, Harry nudged him toward a couple of empty seats. He released the pole and they sat down.

They didn't have far to go, and after a couple of stops, Harry took his arm and pulled him to a door. Neville happily chirped, "Good bye!" when the door released them.

He would have been completely lost in the station, but if Harry was lost, he certainly didn't show it. He led them up a very long moving staircase, and they found themselves on a wide, busy street. Harry took off through the crowd, and Neville hastened to catch up with him. "That was great! Can we do that again?"

Harry threw a smirk at him. "You're so easily amused."

They went to the zoo first. Neville had only been to a zoo once in Chester, when he had been young. He was very excited when Harry told him that even the animals were Muggle. He'd always wanted to see elephants and tigers and giraffes. They went to the reptile house, and Harry showed him the exhibit where he had inadvertently set a boa constrictor free and shut his cousin in the cage, before he's started at Hogwarts. With much goading, Harry finally agreed to talk to some of the snakes. They were mostly bored or asleep, so it wasn't very entertaining. But Neville got a thrill from watching the snakes respond to Harry, gawking at him with as much interest as the humans gawked at them. They found that Harry could speak to a few of the lizards, too, though not as well.

After the zoo, they bought fish and chips from a park vendor and sat on the grass to eat. The sun was warm, and they enjoyed watching all the people milling about the park. They went rowing on the lake, and then visited the gardens. Hundreds of roses bloomed in a dazzling rainbow of whites, yellows, oranges, pinks and reds. Even Harry enjoyed it.

They never did find a cinema, but that didn't bother Neville. He had too much fun looking at all the Muggles. In the afternoon they walked along the streets, looking at shops. All of it fascinated him, especially the electronic things. They found an appliance shop, and Harry scarcely managed to tear Neville away from the row of television screens broadcasting a Muggle football match. Telephones and automatic dishwashers and computers and espresso makers - Neville wanted to try them all, and was disappointed to learn that none of them worked in the shop. But Harry patiently showed him each contraption, explaining what they did. Neville thought the clothes dryer sounded particularly useful and wanted to get one for his grandmother, but Harry said they were very expensive. As Neville never could figure out how to convert pounds into galleons, he had to take Harry's word for it.

When they left the shop, Neville noticed a red booth like the one they had used to enter the Ministry of Magic. "Where does that go to?" he asked, pointing.

"It doesn't go anywhere. It's just a Muggle phone."

Neville studied it curiously. "Would that phone work, or is it like the ones in the shop?"

"No, it works," Harry said, and immediately Neville dashed into the booth. Harry sighed and squeezed in with him.

"So how does it work?" Neville asked eagerly. He studied the keypad. "They all have letters on them. Do you spell out the name of the person you want to talk to?"

"Not their name. You dial their number."

"Let's talk to someone! How about Dean? He lives in London."

Harry smirked at Neville's enthusiasm. "All right." He handed Neville some small coins. "Pick up the receiver and put the coins in the slot." Neville did as instructed, and Harry laughed as he held the earpiece in front of his mouth like a microphone. "This way," he corrected, taking the receiver and handing it back to him the right way. "Now push these numbers," and he recited a string of numbers, which Neville punched in.

"That's an awful lot of numbers," Neville observed. "How do you know they're Dean's?"

"Not too many of our classmates have a telephone. It makes it easy to remember them."

Neville listened intently and when the phone began to ring, he exclaimed, "It's making a noise!"

"Yes, it does that. Hang on."

After a couple of rings he heard a click, and a young girl said, "Hello?"

"Someone is talking!" Neville announced to Harry. "But it's not Dean!"

Harry prompted, "Ask for him."

Speaking slowly and loudly into the phone, Neville said, "I, um, I - would - like - to - talk - to - Dean - please,"

"Just a minute," the girl said.

There was silence on the line, and Neville looked at Harry. "Nothing's happening."

"She probably went to get him."

"Oh. Right."

After a minute, someone new said, "Hello."

"I - would - like - to - speak - to - Dean," Neville said again.

"You're speaking to him, mate."

"Dean?" Neville shouted. "Is that you?"

"That's what I said."

"You sound so different! I never would have known it was you. Isn't this amazing?"

Harry snickered into his hand as Dean demanded, "Who is this?"

"It's me!" Neville exclaimed, and Harry thwacked him on the head. "Ow! Harry!"

"Harry?" Dean repeated.

"He just hit me!" Neville complained.

Harry coached, "Tell him who you are, you dolt!"

"Oh, right. It's me, Neville."

"Neville? And Harry's with you? Why didn't he call, then? I expect he knows how to use a phone."

"Oh, yes, but he's showing me how. We're doing lots of Muggle things."

"Really? Where are you guys?"

"We're in a phone booth."

Harry, who had tilted the receiver so he could listen in, said, "We're in London."

"You are?" Dean asked in surprise. "I didn't think either of you guys lived in London."

"We don't," Harry replied. "But Neville's gran is at St. Mungo's, and I've been given a reprieve from the Dursleys."

"Really? That's great. Are you guys staying at the Leaky Cauldron, then?"

"No," Neville interjected. "We're living in a house with Professor Lupin."

"Professor Lupin!" Dean exclaimed. "That's brilliant! I didn't know he lived in London."

"It's been great," continued Neville. "And today Harry and I went into the city, and there was a park, and I ate a McGuffin sandwich -"

"An egg mcmuffin," Harry corrected.

"- and we went to the zoo, and we rowed in boats, but we didn't find a cinema. I wanted to see 'The Star War,' but Harry says they don't have it anywhere. I thought you said you've seen it a hundred times."

"Yeah, on video."

"What's that?" Neville eagerly asked.

"Forget it, Neville," Harry dismissed. "Dean, what have you been doing all summer?"

"Not much. Been watching my brother and sisters. Rotten brats. They want me to take them swimming every single day. I'm turning into a prune."

"Sounds awful," Harry said, but he was smiling.

"I wish I'd known you guys were here. We ought to get together. That would be great."

"We'll definitely ask Remus," Harry said.

"I can't believe you guys are staying with him! How is he? Is he teaching you new stuff for the DA? I still can't believe you guys didn't take Seamus and me when you went to the Ministry."

"That wasn't the kind of field trip you want to go on," said Harry.

"Yeah, well next time don't leave us out. That's what we're learning all this stuff for, right?"

"Right," Harry said, but Neville could see he didn't look very enthusiastic.

"So you have to call me about getting together. You can come over here. I've got all the Star Wars films on video, Neville."

"Great!" said Neville.

Harry grinned. "Talk to you later, then."

"Right. Good to hear from you, mates! Bye!"

Harry and Neville said goodbye, and then there was a click and the line buzzed. Harry took the receiver and hung it up.

"That was brilliant!" Neville exclaimed. "Who can we talk to next? Doesn't Hermione live in London? She must have a telephone, too."

"We'll call her another time. Why don't we go get dinner?" suggested Harry.

After a disappointing breakfast and a mediocre lunch, Harry found them an Indian restaurant for supper. The food was very tasty, and they sat in their booth in a corner and reviewed the events of their day, laughing and giggling.

Neville had never felt so free in his life. His Gran didn't like big cities as a general rule, so the only time he ever went to large cities was when he was in the company of family. Such company definitely limited his chances to explore. And he just didn't understand cities. All he really knew was Chipping, population 642, near where he and his Gran lived. London had so many streets and houses and buildings, not to mention all the cars driving every which way, all of it had always frightened and befuddled Neville. There was something distressing about a city's artificialness. Even Hogsmeade was more than Neville really cared to face, and he stuck with his classmates on the main street on their visits.

But the big city and all the muggleness didn't intimidate Harry, and Neville had enjoyed himself. It was almost like visiting a different country, and to explore such a vast place in the company of just one other person, not to constantly squabble over where they would go and what they would do next, not to have to go slow to match his Gran's pace, or to be dragged along with Dean and Seamus to Zonko's joke shop when he really wanted to linger at Honeyduke's. Harry didn't make him feel stupid or slow, and with Harry as his guide, he gained confidence, wanting to explore further, to see what might be in the shops, or what might lie around the corner. He still preferred the country, and the giant map on the wall at the tube station gave him a headache with all its colored lines wiggling in every direction, and he still couldn't understand why the Muggle paper money was all different colors (and was it five pounds to the galleon, or the other way around?) but he wasn't frightened. He even thought that, given time and practice, he might be able to master the city the way Harry had.

By the time they finally headed home, both of them were exhausted. Neville's feet ached, and his head hurt from being crammed so full of new experiences. Soon enough they reached their stop and trudged wearily back to No. 12 Grimmauld Place.

It was quite late, and the sun had already set. They crept through the alleyway and entered the house through the back door, praying they wouldn't run into anyone. Indeed the hallway was empty, and they tiptoed over the carpet, hoping to escape upstairs. But the drawing room door swung open and out stepped Alastor Moody. They froze in place at the sight of him, his magical eye fixed sternly on their guilty faces. Moody shut the door behind him, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, "Well, gentlemen?"

Neville edged behind Harry, who swallowed hard and said, "Good evening, Professor."

The magical eye swiveled to Neville while Moody's regular eye stayed fixed on Harry. "Thought you boys would go AWOL, did you? Have a little excursion in the city without telling anyone, when You Know Who and his minions are out there looking for you every day? Thought that sounded like a lark?"

Harry backed up, treading on Neville's foot. "Well, I...that is, we..."

"Right. A barrel of laughs, you two are. I would have thought you were too old for Hide and Go Seek." He pointed upstairs with a jerk of his thumb. "Off to bed with you. We're having a meeting right now, discussing security measures. You boys will be hearing all about it in the morning. I'm sure you'll find it of great personal interest. Now, get going."

Harry edged his way around Moody's imposing presence, Neville clinging to his arm. Once past him, they headed upstairs as quickly as they could without actually running away. They went to Harry's room, shutting the door behind them. Harry rested with his back against the door, as if to keep out any indignant members of the Order who might try to force their way in and scold them. "I think we're in trouble," said Harry, with typical understatement.

"What do you think they'll do to us?"

Harry considered. "What can they do, really? They're not our parents. They don't have the right."

It seemed like there was something wrong with that logic, but Neville didn't want to try pointing it out.

Pushing himself away from the door, Harry crossed to room to Hedwig. "I mean, we aren't prisoners, are we? We have to ask them before we do anything? Even the Dursleys give me more freedom than this." He scowled, fishing a bag of owl treats out of the desk drawer, and feeding the morsels to Hedwig, who eagerly snapped them up. "What do they expect? We should just stay cooped up here all summer?"

"Harry," Neville interjected.

"This would never have happened if we were allowed to stay at the Burrow."

"Harry," Neville repeated.

Harry stopped and scowled at him. "What?"

Neville licked his lips. "I-I just wanted to say...I had a great time today. Whatever they do to us, it was worth it. Thanks."

Harry studied him, his hostility slowly trickling away. "You're welcome," he said at last. Then he grinned. "I had a great time, too."

Perching on the edge of the bed, Neville said, "Do you really think they won't let us out of the house again?"

"Not without escort, anyway."

Neville wrapped his arm around the bedpost. "I wouldn't mind too much if it was Remus. I bet he'd take us to the cinema if we asked."

"Yeah." Harry toed off his shoes and crossed the room to sit next to Neville. "Still, it wouldn't be the same, would it? It was a lot of fun with just the two of us."

Neville ducked his head to hide his shy grin. Harry was right about one thing, though: none of this would have happened if they'd been staying at the Burrow. Not only would they have not snuck away, but Harry wouldn't be paying this much attention to him. Neville just couldn't stand out in a crowd, especially not with Ron and Hermione around. No, he could think of far worse fates than being stuck at Grimmauld Place all summer with only Harry for company.

It almost felt like he had a friend of his very own. 


	11. Chapter 11

When Neville woke up the next morning, he snuck as quietly as he could into Harry's room. He found him already dressed and seated at his desk, scribbling away on a piece of parchment while Hedwig looked on with her typical detachment.

Harry looked up at his entrance and said, "You're awake."

"Yeah. Only just now."

Putting his quill down, Harry reached up to rub Hedwig's neck. "I didn't want to go downstairs without you. Safety in numbers, and all that."

"Right. So are you working on your last will and testament?"

Harry grinned. "It can't be that bad. This is a letter to Ron, telling him about yesterday."

"Like what?"

"I was just writing about boating on the lake, and those people who lost their oars."

"Oh, yeah." Neville smiled at the memory. It really had been a good day, well worth whatever punishment they would get for it.

"Look, I think it's kinda late. Remus must be back by now. Why don't we go down? Might as well get it over with."

Neville grimaced, but he didn't argue. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave after all. So he put up no protest and tried not to let his knees knock together too loudly as he and Harry headed downstairs to face their doom. Outside the kitchen door, they paused to listen. They could hear voices speaking inside, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Neville wasn't about to go in first, and he glanced at Harry, who steeled his expression into a practiced indifference and pushed the door open.

Remus was indeed back, sitting at the table and looking tired, while Snape leaned against the wall opposite him, arms crossed over his chest.

Sneering at their entrance, Snape drawled, "At last our fugitives have deigned to put in an appearance. I can finally take this containment charm off your morning fan mail." He flicked his wand at a red envelope floating in the air over the table. Neville winced as the furious voice of Mrs. Weasley filled the room.

"Of all the reckless, irresponsible stunts! I've never heard anything like it! Really, Harry, you're too old for this kind of thing! And Neville, I expected much better behavior from you! What were the two of you thinking? I can't bear to consider all the horrible things that might have happened! The two of you in the city alone, where all manner of people could have -- and with You Know Who -- and if they had found you..." The voice faltered for a moment, and Neville glanced quickly at Harry. Then the voice regained its indignation. "All I can say is, if you two aren't back safe and sound, I'm going to kill you! Oh, and Remus, dear, I do hope you're eating enough. You need to regain your strength. I'll send some pies round. They're just for you, though. Don't let the boys have any: they don't deserve it."

And with that, the envelope burst into flames, the ashes fluttering down to the table. As bad as it had been, Neville was grateful the howler had been from Mrs. Weasley rather than his grandmother. It was nice to know Mrs. Weasley cared that much.

Remus cleared his throat. "Harry, Neville, I think you'd better sit down." He indicated the two empty chairs across from him and directly in front of Snape, who was scowling like a gargoyle.

Neville followed Harry and sank down into the chair next to him.

"Boys, you must realize how foolish it was of you to sneak away yesterday."

"Don't mollycoddle them, Lupin," Snape rebuked, looming behind them.

Remus's eyes flicked up to Snape. "We agreed that I would handle this, Severus." He looked back down at Harry and Neville, and Neville cringed at the disappointment he saw there. "War could break out any minute now. The Death Eaters may not be able to find our headquarters, but they know we're in London. They could have found you."

"We're sorry," Harry interrupted. "We just wanted to get out of the house for a while."

"I understand that, but we have to be extremely cautious. You took an incredible risk --"

"A risk?" Snape burst in. He moved to the end of the table where he could see all three of them. "That's a serious understatement. It was sheer, irresponsible recklessness! Honestly, Potter, it's not enough for you to endanger yourself, you have to endanger Longbottom, too?"

"We just went to the park!" Harry growled, a flush of anger creeping up his neck.

"All day?" Snape thundered.

"You can't expect us to stay cooped up here with only you for company!"

Neville shrank back into his chair. Snape was going to kill them both.

The potions master sneered, his black eyes hard and cold. "How very like Black you are!"

"You're right, I am!" Harry shouted, shoving his chair back and standing up, fists clenched at his sides. "I'm just like Sirius, and I'm not going to let you keep me a prisoner!"

"And just like Black, you'll kill yourself with your own stubbornness!"

Stunned silence filled the room, then Harry shrieked, "HOW DARE YOU! How DARE you speak of him that way!"

"Black was a foolhardy, irresponsible menace, and he didn't care what danger he put himself or anyone else in. You're no better, Potter; you'll end just the same-"

"No!" Remus cried out, rising from his chair.

Snape turned to look at him, and to Neville's surprise his expression seemed almost sympathetic. "Lupin, you of anyone should be aware of the importance of restraining such recklessness-"

"I tried!" protested Remus. "I did try! I didn't want him to die. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen to me." His voice faltered, and his gaze turned inward, as if he no longer saw any of the others in the room. "They would never listen to me, and now - now he's dead. I didn't try hard enough, and it's - it's my fault."

"It's not your fault!" Harry said. "Bellatrix Lestrange--."

Remus emphatically shook his head, as if he could shake the truth from his mind. "He should never have gone to the Ministry in the first place. They all told him he should stay, but he wanted to go after you, and--." His voice broke. "And I backed him. All those times he tried to leave the house, and I wouldn't let him. And that one time I backed him. I knew better, but I let him go." He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Lupin...," said Snape warily.

Remus swallowed hard, tried to rally himself. "No, you're right; I never stopped them when I should have. And now they're all dead, and it's my fault. But I didn't want him to die. I swear I didn't!"

He was struggling against tears now, choking, crumbling before them, clutching at the edge of the table as if he might collapse. But grief was getting the best of him. Neville glanced at Snape, who was staring at Remus in astonishment. He looked at Harry, and was shocked to see tears streaming silently down his face, his whole body trembling. This was not good. Neville knew neither of them would want to cry in front of Snape. He rose and skirted the table. "Remus, perhaps you should go lie down." He slung Remus's arm over his shoulders, but suddenly Remus's strength gave out on him and he collapsed back into his chair, dragging Neville with him.

A flicker of black, and Neville realized Snape had reached for Remus's other arm.

"Honestly, Lupin, this display is a trifle melodramatic," Snape rebuked.

Neville couldn't believe he would say such a thing. A flash of indignation shot through him, and he quietly said, "Maybe it would be better if you left, Professor."

Snape met his gaze, and Neville instinctively flinched, but he did not appear angry. In fact, Neville thought he saw a slight trace of uncertainty in Snape's eyes. Without a word, the potions master released Lupin's arm and quietly left the room.

When the door swung shut, Neville dragged a chair closer to Remus and sat down. He wasn't sure what to do.

Remus's chest heaved with the effort to keep from crying, to keep breathing. "Sirius," Remus gasped. "Sirius - I killed him."

"No!"

This from Harry, who had knelt at Remus's side. "You didn't kill him! He was your friend! It was Bellatrix Lestrange --."

"I should have stopped him, and I didn't. Now he's gone." Remus buried his face in his hands, shuddering. "God, I just want him back. I want him back."

Harry's expression crumbled, and he wrapped his arms around Remus, burying his face in Remus's shoulder. "Me too. I want him back, too."

The two of them clung together, weeping, and Neville could only watch. He'd never seen an adult cry before. It was a frightening thing, to see a grown man so helpless and broken.

It wasn't fair that Sirius Black was dead, when Harry and Remus loved him so much. He wanted to help them, but there was nothing he could do, because he couldn't bring Sirius back.

Some things even magic couldn't fix.

Neville had no idea how long they remained in the kitchen like that. In the end, Harry and Remus didn't stop crying so much as they just grew exhausted. Neville somehow managed to get the two of them on their feet, and he shuffled them slowly out the door.

Snape was pacing restlessly in the hallway, his face twisted in a scowl. But he had no sharp words for them when they appeared. He merely stepped forward and slid Remus's arm around his neck. "I'll see to Lupin," he said to Neville. "You take care of Potter."

Harry managed a weak glare, but Remus said, "It's all right."

Neville and Harry followed as Snape helped Remus up the stairs. At the first floor, they stopped and watched the two men continue upward, listening to the slow footsteps until they heard a door upstairs open and close.

Harry's eyes remained fixed overhead, and Neville took his arm. "Come on," he said gently. "You should lie down."

He led Harry into his room and laid him out on the bed. He pulled off Harry's shoes, and Harry rolled over onto his side, away from Neville. Harry sniffled a bit, and Neville decided he should pretend he hadn't heard it. "I think I'll go downstairs and do some reading on my parents' medical files." He hesitated. "That's where I'll be if you need anything."

Harry nodded against the pillow, and Neville left him alone.

He'd been reading in the library for an hour or so when the door slowly entered and Harry shuffled in. His face was puffy and swollen, and his hair stuck out in all directions, but his eyes were dry.

"It wasn't Remus's fault," Harry said crossly, as if Neville had been arguing with him.

"I know."

Harry bit his lip and scowled at the stack of files on the table. Then he sighed, and his shoulders drooped. "Let me help you with that." He snagged one of the files and curled up in a chair near the window.

Neville bent his head over the file he'd been reading, but he studied Harry out of the corner of his eyes. Before long, Harry lay the file down in his lap and sat staring blankly at the covered windows. Neville turned his attention back to his work, but he glanced up every now and then to check on Harry. Harry never moved.

With Harry present, Neville found his thoughts kept drifting from his reading. His eyes moved across the pages, but he scarcely comprehended the words. Of course with all the medical terminology, not to mention the mediwizards' atrocious handwriting, Neville scarcely comprehended the files anyway. But now it seemed like so much gibberish. His eyes finally snagged on a line and didn't move for the longest time. He stared and stared at the letters, thinking that they ought to mean something to him. They seemed to keep rearranging themselves on the page, DROFITWOD, WIRD FOOD, FOR TWO DID. At last they resolved themselves into a word. A name.

Dr. Otis B. Driftwood.

His stupor vanished instantly, and he bolted upright. "Here it is!" he exclaimed, shoving the file under Harry's nose. "Look! It's not a potions ingredient. Driftwood is a person! Dr. Otis B. Driftwood. He started treating my parents in 1991."

Harry uncurled himself from his chair. "I can't believe we didn't think of that," he said as he scanned the records. "It says he specializes in the treatment of severe spell damage."

"But what do you think it means?" Neville asked. "Why would my mom have written his name?"

Harry looked up from the file and shrugged. "I don't know. But at least it gives us a place to start." 


	12. Chapter 12

Author's note: I apologize for the delay, but my mother was in the hospital with a severe infection. We had some scary moments, but she is doing better now. Thank you for understanding!

Neville had always viewed the visits to his parents with a combination of terror and despair. Gran loved his parents, but she talked to them as if they were babies. She'd say, "And how are we feeling today? Would we like tapioca for dessert?" Gran filled their visits with inane chatter, to which, of course, Frank and Alice would never respond. Neville would sit and listen to his Gran talk, and let his mother brush his hair, but he never said anything.

Now, however, without his Gran present to serve as a buffer, Neville had to interact more directly with his parents. He told them about his life at Grimmauld Place and the projects he was working on there, but he also spent a lot of time just sitting with them and saying nothing. To his surprise, this silence allowed interactions he'd never known before. If he remained quiet for long enough, his mother would stare at him. She seldom ever made eye contact before, but now she would stare directly into his eyes for long minutes at a time, as if she were studying a painting. He could not discern any recognition or even intelligence in her eyes, but he saw something there, some spark of awareness that he'd never encountered in her before. But if he spoke, she would look away.

On other occasions, he brought paper and crayons to her. As long as he remained silent, she would draw - mostly circles and spirals of blue and green and purple. She never used red or orange or yellow. Once he gave her a red crayon, and she pounded it against the table until it broke into tiny pieces. Sometimes Neville drew, too: childish pictures of his home in Lancashire, with stick figures of him and Gran and his parents, standing in the garden among the flowers. His mother would take his finished picture and cover it with circles and spirals that arched over and through the images. Nurse Nettlethorne tut-tutted about how his mother ruined his drawings, but he loved their joint efforts. Sometimes when she drew, she would talk. Nothing she said ever made much sense, but he liked hearing her voice.

On the day of his appointment with Dr. Driftwood, Nurse Nettlethorne signaled to him before he entered the resident's ward.

He asked, "Do you have more files for me, Nurse Nettlethorne?"

"Yes, yes," she said, her thin face pinched and agitated. "But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about. It's your mother. Earlier today a little girl came through here with her parents. She was visiting her cousin, who is recovering from a nasty bite from an erkling. Anyway, the little girl dropped her doll in the hallway. Your mother picked it up and has refused to return it. She attacks anyone who tries to take it from her." Nurse Nettlethorne scowled primly. "That just won't do, Mr. Longbottom. She needs to give that doll back, or we will have to sedate her in order to retrieve it. I'm hoping you might be able to get it back from her."

"I'll try," he said.

He entered the resident's ward and spied his mother standing at the window, her back to him. She was rocking back and forth, holding something in her arms, and as he drew nearer, he could hear her humming a tune.

"Hi, Mum," he said as he came to stand at her side. "What are you doing?"

She paid him no mind, her gaze locked on the doll in her arms, swaddled in her robe.

"Where did you get the doll?" he asked, reaching out to touch it.

With a warning snarl, she snatched it away from him, turning away to croon to the doll once more.

He glanced toward the door and saw Nurse Nettlethorne watching him. She frowned and gestured for him to make another attempt.

He stepped around his mother so he could face her, saying, "I don't think that doll belongs to you, Mum. There's a little girl out there who loves it and wants it back. I'll get you a doll of your own." Again he reached for it, and again she snatched it away.

Uncertain what to do next, he stood beside her, watching her cradle the doll and hum to it. He'd never heard her sing or hum before, and it sounded nice. He wanted to stand there and listen to her sing forever. He didn't recognize the tune, and at first he thought she was just making it up. But slowly he realized that he knew what notes she was going to sing next. He knew when the tune would slow down and when it would speed up, when the notes would rise and when they would fall. Yet he had no idea what tune she was singing. How could he know this song and yet not know it? It echoed strangely in his mind, like an odd premonition. He watched his mother rock the doll, crooning softly, reaching out her hand to brush the plastic curls back from its face, and he knew - he knew he'd seen this before, had heard this tune, because he had been the one to be held in her arms. He'd looked up to see her face above him, fuller and rounder than it was now. Those hands had stroked his hair, those arms had held him the doll his mother now cradled was him.

Startled, he stepped backward, right into Nurse Nettlethorne.

"Can't you get the doll from her?" she asked sharply.

"No." His voice sounded hollow.

"Then we'll have to do this the hard way." Frowning, Nurse Nettlethorne drew her wand out of her starched pocket.

At the sight of the wand, Neville's mother shrieked, a loud, warning cry of anger. She turned away from Nurse Nettlethorne, shielding the doll with her upper body, at the same time that she lashed out, kicking the nurse in the stomach. Nurse Nettlethorne let out a startled "oof!" and fell backward.

"Mum!" Neville cried as his mother tore off down the aisle toward the door, her hair flying. But he didn't want to stop her. He wanted to help her, to protect her just as she was protecting the doll, protecting him.

Two burly orderlies appeared in the doorway, blocking any escape. Neville's mother skittered to a stop, snarling and clutching the doll to her chest. The orderlies stalked toward her like a pair of mountain trolls, and his mother let loose with a string of obscenities that would have made the Weasley twins blush. As she backpedaled, Neville darted around her to face off with the orderlies. "Don't touch her!" he bellowed, fists raised in defiance. The orderlies stopped, glancing uncertainly at each other.

From behind him he heard a cry. "Stupefy!"

He heard a choked gasp and turned to see his mother crumpling to the floor, Nurse Nettlethorne standing behind her, wand raised, mouth twisted in sour triumph.

"Mummy!" He dropped to his knees at her side. The doll had fallen from her grasp and lay tangled in the robe on the floor. The sight horrified him, and when Nurse Nettlethorne stooped to pick up the doll, dangling it casually by the ankle, he glared at her. "How dare you attack her!"

Nurse Nettlethorne tucked a stray wisp of cherry-red hair back under her cap. "She attacked me. Your mother was deranged."

Trembling with fury, Neville rose to face her. "She wasn't hurting anyone! You didn't have to stun her like that. She was trying to protect the baby."

"It's not a baby. It's a doll, and it doesn't belong to her." She handed the doll to one of the orderlies, and Neville fought the urge to snatch it back. "Your mother doesn't understand these things."

He looked at the woman lying at his feet, and it seemed to him that she understood some things very well. She looked so frail and broken, sprawled on the floor, her dressing gown riding up her knees, her thin hair a wash of gray against the linoleum. She'd fought to protect him. A fierce surge of love welled up inside him. He would be the parent now. He would take care of his mother and father, defending them against anyone or anything that threatened to harm them.

One of the orderlies bent to pick her up, and Neville seized the man by the collar. "I'll get her," he said fiercely. He knelt and tenderly gathered his mother in his arms, resting her head against his shoulder, and picked her up. She weighed so very little, and her bones felt brittle in his grasp. He carried her to her bed next to his father and laid her out on the covers, arranging her head on the pillow and smoothing her hair back from her face.

He looked up and saw Nurse Nettlethorne watching him. "Never do that again," he warned.

She raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. It was clear his threat had no effect on her. Like so many other people, she no doubt saw him as an insignificant little boy whose opinion meant nothing.

But it didn't matter what she thought of him. Neville meant what he said, and he would keep his promises.

"Ah, Mr. Longbottom, do sit down." Dr. Otis B. Driftwood gestured for Neville to take a seat in a padded leather chair. Neville instantly felt swallowed up in the enormous chair, and his legs didn't quite reach the floor. He had to sit forward in order to keep from sliding off.

"Maisie," Dr. Driftwood called to his secretary. "Do bring us some tea." He looked inquiringly at Neville. "Milk and sugar?"

"Yes, please."

Dr. Driftwood nodded to Maisie, who silently shut the door behind her. Settling into a matching chair facing Neville, Dr. Driftwood smiled in welcome. He was a short man with thinning hair combed over his bald spot. His white mediwizard robes were starched and spotless, and his blue eyes twinkled at Neville through thick, square glasses.

"It is such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Longbottom," Dr. Driftwood said, his voice even and calming. "I have worked with your parents for many years now. It is good to finally see what an outstanding young man their son is."

Neville wriggled in his chair, trying to find a more stable position. Dr. Driftwood's friendliness was unsettling. Then again, mediwizards in his experience were always a bit too friendly, as if they were trying to make up for the fact that they would eventually try to poor noxious potions down your throat and cast painful healing charms on you.

"Nurse Nettlethorne tells me that you have been studying your parents' medical records. It's good to see you taking such an interest in their welfare."

"Well, they are my parents. I ought to know about their treatment."

"True, true," Dr. Driftwood nodded.

The door opened, and Maisie entered with a tray bearing two tea cups. She offered the tray first to Neville, who took one of the cups, and then the doctor.

"Thank you, Maisie, dear," Dr. Driftwood politely responded. As she left, he took a sip of his tea, and then said, "Your parents' case is so tragic. Such an awful loss. They were real heroes."

Neville merely nodded, blowing on his tea.

"So I take it in asking to see me, you want to know about your parents' prognosis?"

"Yes, please."

Dr. Driftwood sighed and placed his cup and saucer on a low table at his elbow. "No one has ever survived exposure to Cruciatus as long as your parents. The medical world has never seen such effects before. I'm afraid your parents will never regain their mental faculties."

Neville sipped slowly at his tea. Everything in the records said the same thing, but he didn't want to accept it. "You started working with my parents in 1991?"

"Yes, indeed. Their condition at that time was rapidly deteriorating. They became increasingly agitated, and the staff worried that they might cause harm to themselves or others. As an expert in spell damage, I was called in to stabilize them."

Neville had read about that. The doctor was politely refraining from mentioning how his mother had experienced bizarre hallucinations and repeatedly attacked the staff and even other patients. His father had begun to rouse from his stupor, only to scream uncontrollably for hours. It had been harrowing to read the medical notes.

"Do you know why they started acting like that?" he asked.

"We can't know for certain," was Dr. Driftwood's benign reply. "Perhaps over time the medical potions ceased to be as effective. Or it could be that their minds had continued to deteriorate even after all those years, and they reached some kind of breaking point. At any rate, when I was called in, I was quickly able to restore their composure."

Catatonia, you mean, Neville wanted to retort. "The records say that you treat them with nightshade. Isn't that dangerous?"

"To a normal working mind, it can be. But it cannot do any more damage to your parents than they've already experienced. Instead, the nightshade calms the disturbed patterns in their brains."

"And an intinction of hemlock?" Neville asked.

"A soporific. It prevents hallucinations."

Neville fidgeted. "But those are powerful poisons. Are you sure it doesn't hurt them?"

Dr. Driftwood sighed patiently. "I know it must be disturbing to you to read of such treatments. But young man, this is my field of expertise. You must trust my judgment."

Neville toyed with his cup, turning it in the saucer. "I know you're the expert. But they're on so many potions. My potions teacher is always telling us how potions can work against each other and you shouldn't take too many at once. I just wonder how it can be good for them to take all those potions for such a long time."

"Mr. Longbottom, I understand your concerns. Of course it is worrying to the layperson. But I'm sure your potions teacher would agree that a carefully researched and planned regimen can be of enormous benefit." He paused, tilting his head slightly as he studied Neville. "I understand your mother had an incident today?"

Neville looked at his cup, where a few tea leaves floated along the edge. He had no desire to talk about that with this man.

Dr. Driftwood sighed and removed his glasses, polishing them on the hem of his robe before putting them on again. "Such incidents are often more traumatic for the family members than the patients. It's understandable. The measures that must be taken to prevent harm can seem excessive, even cruel. It can be very distressing."

Neville poked at one of the tea leaves with his fingertip, trying to draw the leaf up onto the edge of the cup.

"Often family members - out of the very best intentions, mind you - want to take their loved ones off their medications. Sometimes they distrust the hospital environment itself. They want to take the patients home with them, give them a rest from their treatment. They think that if only they can return the patients to a familiar, loving environment, away from all the sterility and potions and spells of the hospital, then their loved ones will recover on their own."

Three specks of leaves now sat on the rim of his cup. He sucked the drop of tea off his finger. Dr. Driftwood's words echoed his own thoughts with an eerie accuracy.

"But it never works," Dr. Driftwood continued, his voice still calm and a bit sad. "If you took your parents home, took them off their medication, then their psychosis would return. They would become distressed and agitated. They would lash out at themselves and even at you. They would become impossible to control. I know you think you'd like to take care of them yourself, but believe me, it is too great a task. In the end, they would be far worse. No. I know it's hard to accept, but the fact is your parents will never recover. All we can do is try to make them as comfortable as possible. Really, St. Mungo's is the best place for them."

Neville raised his head, staring absently at the mass of framed diplomas on the wall. "Why do you give them hemlock, though? My potions teacher says it clouds the mind. Wouldn't you want them to be more alert, rather than less alert?"

"Indeed I would, if there were ever any chance of recovery."

"But how do you know for certain that they'll never recover?"

"Young man, it's been fourteen years. If they were ever going to get better, they'd have shown some sign of it by now."

"But back in 1991, when their condition changed - "

"Mr. Longbottom," Dr. Driftwood interrupted, his voice taking on a harsh tone, "I know it is distressing, but you must face facts. I am the expert here, not you, nor your potions teacher. Believe me, I know what is best for your parents. Perhaps one day there will be some medical breakthrough, but until then rest assured that your parents are receiving the very best care available. Indeed, the wizarding world owes them no less for their heroic sacrifice on behalf of us all."

Neville thought of his mother, protecting that doll and fighting off Nurse Nettlethorne. Sourly he wondered what Dr. Driftwood really knew of sacrifice. His gaze roamed over the diplomas once more. Certainly the display conveyed the doctor's expertise: degrees from mediwizard schools and societies not only in England but in Germany, Brazil, the United States, and Japan; photos showing him receiving awards, speaking in front of large groups of mediwizards, posing with other doctors.

To his surprise, he recognized one of the faces in the photos. A tall man with long white-blonde hair and dressed in aristocratic robes, shaking hands with Dr. Driftwood.

"Isn't that Lucius Malfoy?" Neville asked, pointing at the picture.

Dr. Driftwood twisted around to see where Neville indicated. "Ah, yes. That picture was taken at the annual fundraising banquet for Victims of the War. Mr. Malfoy has always been a generous supporter of St. Mungo's."

"He's a Death Eater," Neville spat. "He's currently in Azkaban."

For a moment, Dr. Driftwood's benevolent composure faltered, but then he regained his calm. "Indeed. Such a great shock to us all."

Not to Neville. "Why do you still have his picture on your wall?"

"Mr. Malfoy was a member of the board of directors of St. Mungo's. If you visit the office of any of our mediwizards, you will find his picture. I do not admire the man for his undesirable connections, but his contributions to the hospital have helped a great many people, including your parents. I for one am not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I'm just grateful for the gift."

Neville nodded benignly, but the thought of Lucius Malfoy helping his parents filled him with revulsion. 


	13. Chapter 13

Following Harry and Neville's unauthorized excursion into London, the members of the Order decided to permit an escorted trip in the hope that it would keep the boys from running off again. So a day was planned for Neville and Harry to join some of their friends in Diagon Alley. When the day of the grand excursion arrived, the boys could scarcely contain their excitement. They flooed with Remus to the Leaky Cauldron just after breakfast. Harry went first, and Neville followed, bumping into Harry when he stepped out of the fireplace at the other end.

"Ow! Watch it, Neville, you almost knocked me over!" Harry complained.

"Sorry about that."

"Neville!" Dean was standing right in front of him, beaming wildly. He seemed to have grown several inches since the end of term. "It's bloody good to see you, mate!"

"You too, Dean."

"You'll never believe how close to disaster we almost came! My wretched sister Lucy wanted to come too, and Mum almost let her. But then she got into a fight with Howie over the Game Boy and punched him, so Mum grounded her."

Neville wondered who the Game Boy was and was about to ask how badly he'd been hurt, when behind him, someone cleared his throat. He turned to see Remus crouching in the fireplace.

"Would you gentlemen be so good as to move? It's rather cramped in here."

"Oh, sorry!" They moved out of the way, and Remus stepped out of the fireplace, shaking the ashes out of his robe.

"How are you, Professor Lupin?" Dean asked. "Do you remember me?"

"Of course I do, Dean. How could I forget when your boggart turned into a severed hand?"

"And then I got it caught in a mousetrap!" Dean beamed to have been remembered, and he glanced at the boys. "I can't believe your luck, getting to spend the summer with Professor Lupin. Wish I could stay with you."

Harry turned eagerly to Remus. "Could he?"

Remus shot him a warning look. "The place is full enough as it is. We can't have anyone else there."

"Oh. Right." He turned back to Dean. "Sorry."

"Are the Weasleys here yet?" Neville asked.

"Not yet. You two are the first ones to arrive. After me, I mean." Dean sighed. "I wish we could have invited Seamus. Then all of us would be here."

A whoosh in the fireplace signaled a new arrival, and Hermione climbed out, flashing a brilliant smile when she saw Neville. To his surprise, she flung her arms around his neck in a quick hug. He couldn't remember if she'd ever hugged him before, and he awkwardly patted her shoulder.

Releasing him, she stepped back and greeted the others. "Hello, Harry, Dean." There was a quick flurry of "How are you" and "Good to see you," and then they were interrupted by a high-pitched shriek.

"Dean!"

A red flash streaked past Neville, and Ginny Weasley threw herself into Dean's arms. Dean spun her around. "Hey, gorgeous!" and then Ginny stopped his mouth with a voracious kiss.

Neville's jaw hung open, and he glanced at Harry to see him equally astonished.

"Stop that right now!"

An indignant Ron stood in front of the fireplace, glowering at Dean and Ginny. He pointed an accusing finger at them, as if preparing to throw a hex. "None of that! It's not right!"

Another rush in the fireplace, and a tall man appeared with long red hair in a ponytail, and a dragon tooth dangling from his ear.

"Stop them, Bill!" Ron hollered. "Mum wouldn't like it."

Bill glanced at Dean and Ginny, who were lustily ignoring Ron and everyone else in the pub. He smirked, "Tell you what, little brother: you ignore Ginny's behavior, and I'll ignore yours."

"It's not right, Bill! You have to stop them!"

Ignoring him, Bill turned to greet Remus, and Hermione sidled up to Ron. "Leave them alone, Ron."

"Thomas," Ron growled, "you'd better put my sister down right now, or there'll be trouble."

Still wrapped around Dean, Ginny stuck her tongue out at her brother, the tongue which, Neville realized, had just been tickling Dean's tonsils. Then she jumped down to stand protectively in front of Dean, who wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Hullo to you, too, Ron," Harry said before Ron could complain again.

Ron wavered, caught between the desire to yell at Dean and to greet Harry. With a sigh, he chose the latter. "'Lo, Harry."

"You didn't say hello to me yet," Hermione primly pointed out.

"Hello," he said, and she rewarded him with a quick kiss on the cheek.

Embarrassed, Neville looked away, only to see Dean nuzzling Ginny's neck. This trip would be excruciating if it turned out to be a double date. He glanced at Harry, who was staring awkwardly at the floor.

"Let's go then," Bill announced. "Fred and George are expecting us."

Bill and Remus headed out the door, Hermione dragging Ron with her. Neville followed Harry, keenly aware that Dean and Ginny were behind them, attached at the hip. They made a strange parade down the street, with the couples engaged in furtive whispers and cuddles, leaving Neville and Harry awkwardly paired, yet curiously alone. Neville quickened his pace to match Harry's, but Harry avoided his gaze, staring straight ahead at Ron and Hermione.

Neville had really been looking forward to this trip, but now it seemed like it would be just like school, where everyone else had friends and he just tagged along. He liked it better when it was just him and Harry, or even him alone. Nothing in the world was worse than being a tagalong.

He let himself fall behind Harry, his feet dragging on the cobblestones. He was resigning himself to a good funk when Hermione called out to him. "Oh, Neville, I forgot! I wanted to tell you something."

He looked up to see her gesturing to him. Uncertain what she wanted, he skirted around Harry to catch up with her. She surprised him by taking his arm, and Neville noticed that Harry quickened his pace to lurk just behind them.

"I have information about your doctor," she whispered. "I think you'll find it very interesting."

"What is it?" he asked eagerly.

"Not now. We'll have to find a time when the others aren't around."

"Hey, what about me?" Ron bristled.

"I didn't mean you and Harry, of course."

Neville quickly glanced behind him. "I wouldn't really mind if Ginny and Dean know."

Ron scowled. "I don't know. They seem a bit preoccupied."

"And you aren't?" Harry shot back.

"Oh honestly, won't you two stop it?" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Anyway, Neville, I don't have anything definite, but I think you're right to be suspicious about your doctor."

Neville was bursting to know what Hermione had discovered, but he knew he'd have to wait.

From behind them, Ginny called out, "Neville!"

He turned and glanced at her, and Ron urged, "Go on, mate. You can keep an eye on her."

"I wouldn't dare," he muttered to himself as he fell back with Ginny and Dean. She seized his arm and slowed their pace until they were several steps behind the others.

"All right, what are they up to?" she whispered. "I know something's going on. Last time Harry came over, he and Ron were all secretive and sending owls to Hermione."

Neville hesitated, glancing ahead at the others. Strange, really, that suddenly he was so popular among everyone - and all because he had a mystery.

"Oi, Neville!" Ginny hissed. "You and me used to be friends. Don't tell me that now you're hanging out with the Boy Who Lived," she rolled her eyes, "you want to join their little saving the world club."

"Ginny!" Her resentment surprised him.

"She's right," added Dean. "They're always running off and doing these things on their own. If they're up to DA business, then everyone in the DA should know."

"It's not DA business, it's my business!"

His protest surprised Ginny. "What do you mean?"

He glanced ahead again, to see that the others were half a block away. The Heroic Trio didn't own this secret; it was his to share with whomever he wanted. "It's about my parents," he said quietly.

"Oh, Neville," said Ginny, her hand tightening on his arm. "Are they all right?"

Glancing around to make sure no one was hovering nearby who could overhear, Neville quickly told them the story. When he finished, Ginny exclaimed, "Oh Neville, that's just awful! Please, let me help."

"I'll help, too," Dean added.

"Thanks, but I'm not sure how anyone can help right now. Hermione says I'm right not to trust Dr. Driftwood, but I don't know what I can do about it. I won't be their guardian until I turn eighteen."

"Well, we'll help any way we can," Ginny vowed, and Dean nodded enthusiastically.

"Thanks, you two," Neville smiled.

Dean looked up the street. "Hey! Where'd the others go?"

"They're in the shop!" Ginny exclaimed. "We're here! I'm so excited. Mum's never let me come to the shop before. She says it's a disgrace, but secretly I think she's rather proud."

Leading both boys by the arm, Ginny pulled them into a shop that said, "Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes." The shop inside bustled with greetings and laughter and back slaps, George and Fred beaming at the center of it all, every bit as boisterous and noisy as Neville remembered.

Seeing them, George swooped down on Ginny, picking her up and spinning her around. "There's ickle Ginnikins! How's my baby? Need a nappy change?"

"Get off, George, you stupid prat! Put me down!" But she didn't seem too angry.

"Oi, Thomas," Fred greeted. "You'd better be taking good care of our sister, fawning all over her, giving her lots of prezzies."

"In fact, if you're out of ideas, we've got many fine gifts to choose from," added George.

Ginny scowled. "Don't even think about it, Dean!"

"I'm not that stupid, sweetie," he replied.

"Smart lad, there," George approved. "But there's a ten percent discount for all Gryffindors, so you might want to pick up some treats for that little Irish mate of yours."

"A discount?" Dean asked, eyeing the displays with interest.

"But you, sir!" George exclaimed, pointing at Lupin, who looked shocked to have been singled out. "We must shake your hand, sir."

George reached out and enthusiastically pumped at Remus's arm before being replaced by Fred.

"Indeed, sir," Fred added, "we'd kneel at your feet, but we don't want to embarrass you."

Remus blushed. "I-I'm afraid I don't--"

"Ashamed!" said George, "Ashamed we are, not to have realized sooner!"

Placing his hand over his heart, Fred solemnly said, "Mr. Moony, you are the god of our idolatry."

"Umm-"

"Lifetime discount of fifty percent off for you, dear sir!" trumpeted George.

"And you will always be an honored guest at Weasley and Weasley's," Fred added.

"Well," Remus awkwardly cleared his throat. "Thank you, boys. That's very generous."

Dean tugged at Neville's sleeve and whispered, "What are they going on about?"

"I've no idea," Neville whispered back.

"And you, Bill!" George added. "Twenty percent discount to family members!"

Shaking his head, Bill asked, "How do you two expect to make any profit with all these discounts?"

"Easy. We overcharge everyone else." Fred looked to his twin. "Now George, if you would be so good as to put up the 'out to lunch' sign, let's give our guests a tour of the establishment."

"Right-o, old chap!" George sang. He flicked his wand at the door, and the painted letters on the window bled together and re-formed to spell, "Out to Nunch."

"Still got to work on that charm, there," Fred chided.

George shrugged. "It's close enough."

The tour turned out to be a chaotic enterprise, as everyone browsed at will through the shelves, and the twins interrupted each other in their zeal to show off all their latest inventions. Neville listened with interest, but he had no desire to touch anything. He'd been the victim of a few too many of Fred and George's test trials. The others were not so shy, however, and they pawed through the displays, looking out for treasures.

"Hello!" Dean exclaimed, pulling a long, flat box out of a stack. "This is a Muggle game."

George glanced over at him. "Yeah, we nicked that from Dad. He's got loads of the stuff lying around, and we thought it might prove useful."

"Scrabble?" Hermione raised an eyebrow. "That seems a bit...educational for a joke shop."

"Oh, but here's the thing," explained Fred, taking the box from Dean and pulling open the lid. "You're supposed to spell out words with these little chips, right? But I'm working on a charm so whenever you land on one of those "double score" squares, the chips rearrange themselves into naughty words. Very educational, indeed."

"Dirty word Scrabble, eh?" Harry said. "My cousin's always playing that game. Four-letter words are the only kind he can spell."

Fred and George looked stricken.

"What?" Fred cried.

"Hang on there, Potter," George said. "You mean to tell us that your idiot cousin already thought of this game?"

Harry shrugged.

George turned and thwacked his twin on the head with the box lid. "You imbecile! I can't believe you've been spending all this time trying to make a game that Potter's doltish cousin likes to play!" He beat him with the lid, and Fred ducked.

"I'm sorry! I didn't know!"

"That's enough of that stupid game! What a bloody waste!"

While George pummeled Fred, Neville picked up the box and inspected the chips. Each one had a letter on it.

"See the little numbers?" Harry was leaning over his shoulder. "You spell out the words and get points for which letters you use. Dudley thinks it's fun to spell out insults."

Neville picked up one of the tiles, rubbing its smooth surface between his fingers as an idea began taking shape in his mind. He turned to the twins. "How much do you want for this game?"

George paused in his beating, and Fred said, "There, see? A potential purchase. But Neville, the game isn't charmed. It doesn't spell anything."

"That's all right. What's the price?"

"Five sickles," said George.

"A galleon," said Fred.

They glanced at each other in silent negotiation, then simultaneously turned and smiled at Neville.

"Seeing as how you were always such a good sport about testing our advance products -"

"-we'll sell it to you for the special price of -"

"- ten sickles," they finished together.

As Neville reached into his pocket for the money, Bill slowly shook his head at his brothers. "It'll be a miracle if you two ever turn a profit."

When they had seen everything in the shop, and everyone had made a purchase - even Remus, who had bought a set of exploding ink quills - the twins closed up the shop and they all went out to lunch. The twins took them to a favorite pub of theirs, where the party squeezed around a long table in the back. Ron and Ginny sat at opposite corners, as far away from each other as possible. Dean draped his arm around Ginny's shoulders, and she snuggled up next to him, almost sitting in his lap.

Ron scowled. "Stop that! None of that at the table - urk!" He choked and abruptly turned a fascinating shade of red that clashed violently with his hair. Next to him, Hermione appeared non-plussed, but her hand was conspicuously not in view.

"What's that, old boy?" George teased. "You choke on something?"

"Do you need a glass of water?" Fred added.

"Maybe something's got your tongue?"

"Or other parts."

Bill lightly chided, "That's enough, you two."

"Ah, young love!" George melodramatically sighed. "How fondly I remember those halcyon days!"

"Yes, you're getting old before your time," Fred agreed. "Me, however, I'm just hitting my prime."

"If that's so, then why does the fair Angelina no longer visit our shop?"

"She'll be back, don't worry. Certainly sooner than that hag friend of yours. What was her name - Gertrude?"

"Genevieve." George glanced across the table at Harry, grinning widely. "Twenty years old, she is. Let me sing to you the praises of older women, my friend!"

Fred nodded. "Older women: that's the way to go!"

"And speaking of older women," George asked, "how is the lovely Miss Chang these days?"

Harry blushed. "I, uh - I wouldn't know."

"Ah well, so it goes. Best to forget about her, Harry. You can do better."

"You don't want to be wasting your time on a girl who's still in school," said Fred.

"Hey!" Ginny shot her brother a foul look.

"Present company excepted."

"But there's a sweet thing who works in the shop next to ours," continued George.

Fred sighed. "Miss Emily."

"Eighteen years old."

"Very pretty."

"We'd be happy to introduce you to her."

"We think you should meet her."

Harry blushed and looked down at the table. "No thanks, anyway."

"Oh come on, mate. You need to get out into the world!"

"We'll be your ticket to the young wizarding scene."

"Girls just love a bloke with glasses."

"And scars. They're mad for scars."

Clearing his throat, Remus interrupted, "I thought we came here for lunch, not dating advice?"

Everyone's attention was quickly distracted to the menus, and out of the corner of his eyes, Neville saw Harry's shoulders droop in relief. The conversation turned to other topics, frequently several at the same time, and Neville had a hard time keeping up with it all. But he was enjoying himself, and he began to feel as if he might belong after all.

They lingered over their meal for some two hours, but eventually the twins had to admit that duty called. They bid the others farewell and then headed off, while the rest of them debated what to do next. Dean wanted to shop, since he didn't come to Diagon Alley very often, but Hermione piped up, "I've heard the Museum of Witchcraft has a special exhibit on China: Four Thousand Years of Magical History."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, that sounds jolly fun. I could really use a nap."

"Oh come on, Ron, the Hogwarts curriculum is far too restricted to European traditions. This would give us an excellent opportunity to expand our cultural knowledge. I wonder if the exhibit covers the Shaolin monks?"

"Shaolin?" Dean perked up. "You mean like Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee? Cool."

"Who're they?" Ron asked. "Some kind of famous Chinese wizards?"

"I vote no on the monks," said Harry. "How about the Quidditch shop? Maybe there are some new brooms."

Ginny frowned. "Who wants to shop for brooms we can't afford to buy?" Harry looked sheepish at that.

"What about the park?" Neville offered. "I always liked playing in the labyrinth."

"Lover's Hedge?" Ron scoffed. "Ugh. It's always full of people kiss--." He screeched to a halt. "Oh."

"What?" Neville asked. "What's Lover's Hedge?"

Bill smirked. "It's what some people call the labyrinth. It's a popular dating spot. You know, all those secluded nooks."

Neville blushed. He had no idea that's what people used the labyrinth for. It was just a fun place his Gran used to take him to after they visited St. Mungo's. He was embarrassed to have suggested it, but Ginny piped up, "I'm up for that."

"Me too," Dean added quickly.

"That could be fun," said Ron.

But Hermione's eyes were locked on Neville. "That's an excellent suggestion."

Why was she looking at him? Panicked that she was making some kind of pass at him, Neville squawked, "What? I don't think it's a good idea."

"But you suggested it," Ginny pointed out.

"I changed my mind!"

Her eyes still on him, Hermione said, "It's a good idea, Neville, especially if one wanted to have a private conversation."

He couldn't believe Ron hadn't killed him yet, the way Hermione was making eyes at him. "Oh, but--."

Hermione squinted sharply at him, but what shut him up was Harry bumping into him and stepping on his foot.

"Let's go then," Harry said.

Raising an eyebrow at Remus, Bill said, "What do you say? Shall we let these tykes loose in the labyrinth all un-chaperoned?"

"It depends. Is Molly more likely to get angry at you, or me?"

Bill laughed. "Don't worry. I'll handle the Wrath of Mum. So let's go."

They headed off down the street, everyone chatting away except Neville. What had he gotten himself into? Did Hermione really want to go into the labyrinth with him? The thought alone made him trip over his own feet, and he almost fell on his face except for Harry grabbing his arm to steady him. Hermione appeared at his other side, and sandwiched between them, he began to think that fainting might be a perfectly sensible option.

Taking his arm, Hermione hissed in his ear, "Don't you get it, Neville?"

"G-get what?"

She sighed. "With all these people about, I'll never get the chance to tell you about you-know-what."

"You Know Who?"

"No!"

"Neville," Harry said. "You know: Driftwood."

"Oh," said Neville. Then, "Oh! Oh, right!" Relief flooded him at the realization that Hermione didn't want a snog. Now suddenly he couldn't wait to go into Lover's Hedge with Hermione.

They arrived at the park, but as soon as Harry saw the seven-foot-high hedges, he balked, the color draining from his face.. "Oh. It's rather like the Triwizard tournament, isn't it?" He sounded nervous.

"Oh Harry," said Hermione. "I hadn't thought of that."

"There aren't any...surprises in there, are there?"

Ron shrugged. "Well there's, you know, benches and bowers. And a pond in the middle. And the occasional statue."

"And the hedges move," Neville added, "so it's never the same maze twice. But if you get lost, you just say, 'Show me the way out,' and a path opens up. Otherwise I'd still be stuck in there."

"Oh. All right." But Harry still looked a bit queasy. "All the same, I'd rather not go in there alone."

"Well then, why don't you go with Ginny and Dean," Hermione suggested, "and Neville can come with Ron and me."

"What!" Ginny protested. "I don't want anyone to come with us."

"You two need a chaperone!" Ron squealed.

"Oh, stop it, all of you," Bill interrupted. "Hermione, that's not the way it's done. You and Ron go first. Then we'll send in Ginny and Dean, and then Harry can go with Neville."

Everyone seemed agreeable to this except Hermione, who frowned slightly, and Neville, who didn't know how they'd be able to discuss Driftwood if they were all lost in the maze.

"Well, go on, you two!" Bill prompted, ushering Ron and Hermione toward the entrance.

With one last look at Neville, Hermione took Ron's arm and they disappeared into the labyrinth.

Bill nodded at Ginny and Dean. "We'll give them a twenty-count, and then you two go next."

Neville shot a nervous glance at Remus, who answered with a reassuring nod.

A few seconds passed, and then Ginny shouted, "Twenty!" Grabbing Dean's hand, she pulled him into the maze.

Bill glanced at Harry and Neville. "You're up next, boys."

Neville chewed on his lip, wondering how they were going to find Hermione, and after a few seconds, Harry tugged on his sleeve. "Come on."

They walked into the labyrinth, and as soon as they turned the first corner, Neville said, "We ought to try to find Ron and Hermione."

"Yeah." Harry glanced around at the impenetrable hedges. "How exactly do we do that?"

"I don't know. I hadn't thought of that."

"Well, let's just go this way," Harry said, indicating a branching path. "Hopefully they didn't go far."

They walked on in silence, twisting and turning through the maze. Neville had always loved the labyrinth. Gran would go in with him, and he never felt lost and afraid, not when she was with him. He'd had no idea that this was a dating spot. It had just been a giant puzzle, an ever-changing playground. He and Gran would play hide and seek among the hedges, and he would climb on the statues and pick blossoms in the bowers and throw rocks in the pond. Things were so simple when you were a child. Then you grow up and they become complicated. He almost wished his Gran were here instead of the others.

"It's creepy, isn't it?" Harry observed.

His thoughts interrupted, Neville glanced sharply at Harry, but Harry was looking back at the hedge that had moved to close off the path behind them.

"It's too much like the Triwizard tournament," Harry continued. "I don't see how anyone could think this is romantic."

Neville only shrugged and chewed on his lip.

They walked on, saying nothing, and it really wasn't very much fun.

"We're never going to find them," Harry said at last.

"My Gran used to tell me that if I ever got lost I should just stay in one place, and she'd come and find me."

"All right." Harry headed over toward a nearby bench and sat down. After a moment's hesitation, Neville joined him.

The sun shone down through the ivy of the bower, bathing them in a warm, green light. They could hear voices and birds and occasional shouts and laughter muted in the distance. Out there in the world people were talking and shopping, living their lives, fighting You-Know-Who, or wasting away in the resident's ward of St. Mungo's. But here, secluded in this green maze, he and Harry were alone, sitting together while bumblebees buzzed around them in the honeysuckle, and the sun dappled patterns on the grass. Life could be peculiar that way.

He watched as Harry idly stripped a leaf off the vine. "Do you ever feel like you're being left out?" Harry asked.

Neville snorted. That was the story of his life. "How do you mean?"

"I mean," he neatly tore the leaf down its central vein. "There's Ginny and Dean, and Ron and Hermione. Everybody seems to be in love or something." He let the two halves fall to the grass and peeled another leaf off the vine. "But I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

"Oh," said Neville.

"I think it would be nice to be in love," Harry said. "And stuff. But it didn't seem to work out very well for me. I just don't know if I'm ready. Everybody else seems to be ready, though. So maybe I should be ready, too." He hesitated. "Do you feel ready?"

This was too weird: the Boy Who Girls Swoon Over, asking him about relationships. He covered his embarrassment by busing himself with a ladybug he had found crawling across a leaf, trying to coax it onto his finger. "Not really," he said at last. "But then, I'm kinda slow about a lot of things."

Harry was silent for a while. The ladybug crawled up Neville's index finger toward his palm. He liked the tickle of its tiny legs.

"Do you ever think about getting married and having kids someday?" Harry asked.

Neville did think about it, but in that vague, dream-like way that you thought about growing up, getting a job and buying a house. It seemed like part of the standard life package, but for now it didn't have much to do with him. He shrugged.

"I don't know if I really want that," Harry confessed. "I mean, the Dursleys haven't exactly been the best model for it. If you saw my Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, you'd never want to get married."

"But they're not all like that. The Weasleys are nice."

"Yeah." Harry pulled off another leaf. "I don't know, though. What if your kids turned out like Dudley? Or Malfoy?"

Neville gave an exaggerated shudder. The ladybug didn't care for the sudden earthquake, and altered course to climb over the edge of his hand. He twisted his wrist so he could keep track of it.

"It just seems so big and..." Harry sighed. "I don't have to get married, do I?"

"I suppose not," Neville answered.

"Maybe I could be a bachelor," mused Harry. "That doesn't mean you can't date people. But then I wouldn't have to worry about the marriage and kids part."

"That's true." Neville caught the bug before it could crawl under his sleeve and redirected it back toward his palm.

"Remus isn't married," Harry pointed out. "Neither was Sirius. Though I guess being in Azkaban all those years would make it hard to meet anyone."

The bug was traveling resolutely in a westward direction over Neville's hand, and he had to keep twisting his arm to follow its progress. "My Great Uncle Clive isn't married."

"Do you think you'll ever get married?"

"I don't know," Neville confessed. "I guess I'm too worried about my OWLs to think about marriage. I'm not even sixteen yet."

"Me neither," Harry said, and he sat up a bit straighter. "Yeah. We're only fifteen, after all. And my parents didn't start dating until their last year of school."

"Mine didn't start dating until after school." He watched the bug crawling up his wrist. "Gran always feels like I'm behind for my age, that I ought to do things faster. But Professor Sprout told me once that it's not a competition. I should do things when I'm good and ready, not when other people say I should. Plants grow in their season, she says. No point trying to get a rose to bloom in winter."

Harry squinted up into the sunlight, contemplating this. "Whatever that means."

"I think I know what it means," said Neville.

They sat together in silence, Neville watching the ladybug explore his hand, Harry sitting next to him, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky. There was something about Harry that always reminded Neville of a plant that hadn't gotten enough sun. He seemed so scrawny, not quite big enough for his own skin. But he would get there in time. They all would. For now it just felt good to sit here and not worry about all the things that normally troubled him.

The peacefulness couldn't last forever, though, and they were soon interrupted by a strident voice. "There you are!"

They looked up to see Ginny and Dean round the hedge and come toward them.

"We've been looking all over for you!" Ginny complained.

"Well, you found us," he observed.

Ginny plopped down in the grass at their feet. "What did she tell you?"

"Who?"

"Hermione! I finally realized why she wanted you to go with them. She was going to tell you something."

Harry glanced sharply at Neville. "Ginny and Dean know?"

He shrugged. "I told them."

"Yeah, you're not the only one who gets to know things, Harry Potter," Ginny retorted. "So what did Hermione say?"

"Nothing yet," Neville told her. "We haven't seen them."

"We haven't seen them, either," Dean reported.

"We figured if we just stayed here," Neville said, "eventually they would show up."

Ginny shifted on the grass so her head lay in Dean's lap. "I bet Ron and Hermione are off snogging somewhere."

"That's disgusting," Harry said.

Dean glanced up at him. "Harry, mate, you have got to get a clue."

"And what have you been doing?"

"Snogging, of course."

Harry snorted. "I definitely didn't need to hear that."

Dean laughed, his hand wandering down the front of Ginny's blouse. She made no move to stop him, grinning up at Neville. He smirked back.

"Cut that out, you two," warned Harry.

"Honestly, Harry, you're starting to sound like Ron," Ginny said. "Neville doesn't mind, so why should you?"

Indignant, Harry turned on Neville, who merely shrugged. "It doesn't bother me."

Harry rolled his eyes, but before he could comment further, two figures rounded the corner.

"Oh, look!" Hermione called out, stopping up short so that Ron almost bumped into her. "Here you all are!"

Peering over her shoulder, Ron saw Dean and Ginny lying together on the grass. He pointed at Dean's roaming hand. "Bad touch! Bad touch!"

"Oh, stop it, Ron!" she rebuked, then turned and smiled at Neville. "Neville! Why don't you come with us for a while? There's something I want to show you."

Dean snickered. "Way to score, Neville!"

His ears flaming red, Ron squeaked, "That's just not right!"

"Ron!" Hermione shouted.

"It's all right, Hermione," Neville interrupted before some kind of fight broke out. "We don't have to talk privately."

"But!" Ron waggled a finger at Ginny and Dean.

"I already told them about my parents and Driftwood."

"But!" Ron repeated.

Ginny glared at him. "Get over it, Ron. Neville's not a sexist oppressor, unlike you!"

"I am not a sexy oppressor!"

"I don't know, mate," drawled Dean, "you keep trying to oppress my sexy."

Hermione glared at them all, hands on her hips, and Neville could see her as a professor some day, one even more formidable than Snape. "Does anyone want to hear about Dr. Driftwood, or not?" she seethed from between clenched teeth.

Instantly the others ceased their bickering and focused on Hermione. Appeased, she drew closer and sat down on the grass at Neville's feet, closely followed by Ron.

"Dr. Otis B. Driftwood," she began, sounding every bit as if she were delivering a lecture, "is a world-renowned specialist in spell damage. His life's work has been treating people who have been subjected to the Cruciatus curse. In this he has followed in the footsteps of his mentor, Dr. Hugo Hackenbush, who was known for his groundbreaking work in reversing mental and physical damage as a result of Cruciatus.

"However, in 1979, Dr. Hackenbush was brought before the Wizengamot on charges of unethical medical experiments. It turned out he had been casting Cruciatus on his subjects in order to study the effects of the curse. His subjects tended to be social outcasts with few resources or connections. In fact, he preferred to work with werewolves, because they could withstand his tests longer."

Everyone shuddered as they thought of Remus. Hermione took a moment to collect herself before continuing.

"In the course of investigating him, it was discovered that much of his research was funded by known Death Eaters. Furthermore, his office was ransacked shortly after his arrest, and many of his files were stolen. It was never conclusively proven that Dr. Hackenbush was a Death Eater, but he was convicted for his use of Cruciatus and sentenced to Azkaban. He died there four years later.

"As I said, Dr. Driftwood was one of his students. He was quick to distance himself from Hackenbush when he was arrested, and even testified against him at his trial. Dr. Driftwood was also investigated, but he was cleared of any wrongdoing. Since then he has devoted himself to helping victims of Cruciatus, and he is highly respected in the field.

"However, not everyone approves of him. Some mediwizards question his methods of treatment - some of the very things you're worried about, Neville, such as his reliance on poisonous ingredients in his potions. But there's more. He has done a lot of research funded by an organization called the Asclepius Howard Fund for Medical Research. Lucius Malfoy sat on the Board, and major donors in the past have included the Malfoys, the Lestranges, and other known or suspected Death Eaters.

"Of course, many wizarding organizations have connections to Death Eater money. Known and suspected Death Eaters are deeply woven into all levels of society, so the association alone isn't enough to discredit any organization. But I do think it's cause for concern, especially given the controversy over Dr. Driftwood's methods."

Hermione fell silent, and they all sat stunned, reflecting on what she had said. The sun no longer felt warm on Neville's skin. He couldn't shake the image of Driftwood shaking Malfoy's hand out of his mind. Driftwood, who had seemed so solicitous, yet who cut off all of Neville's objections. Driftwood saying, "I never look a gift horse in the mouth" -- not even a gift won by unethical experiments on werewolves, funded by Death Eater money. He thought of his mother, fighting to protect her baby, and nausea threatened to overcome him.

Something brushed against his elbow, taking the edge off the chill that had settled over him. He looked up to see Harry hovering next to him, eyes wide with concern.

"Th-there's one more thing," Ron said, his voice a bit wobbly. "That Hackenbush fellow? His brain was in that tank at the Ministry."

Her expression tender, Hermione reached out and took his hand in hers. Then she looked up at Neville. "Ron has his memories." 


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reviewing! And by the way, my mother is doing much better and is expected to come home from the hospital this week. I appreciate your patience!

Chapter Fourteen

Neville did not immediately have time to investigate Hermione's discoveries about Dr. Driftwood, for the sage had grown, and a day was set when they would perform the banishment spell and purification charm.

Neville woke on the appointed morning nervous but excited. They had rehearsed the steps the previous night, and he'd run over the words of the spell, envisioning each act in his mind. He knew exactly what to do.

But that confidence didn't keep him from being anxious. As he and Harry headed downstairs for breakfast, his knees shook with each step. "I don't know if I can eat anything," he moaned, clutching his stomach.

Harry grinned at him. "Don't worry, Neville, you'll do fine."

"But what if I throw up in the middle of the ritual? That just can't be good."

"Remember my first Quidditch match? I couldn't eat a bite that morning. I was so worked up, I thought I'd fall off my broom. But I ended up winning the game."

"I remember that game," he said weakly.

"So you see? It's natural to be nervous, but that doesn't mean you're going to mess up. I know you'll do well, Neville. I believe in you."

They paused outside the kitchen door, and Harry gave Neville's shoulder an encouraging squeeze. A bit of the tension leached out of his stomach, replaced by a blossoming warmth. Harry Potter believed in him. Harry Potter, who'd fought against You-Know-Who himself, who won the Triwizard Tournament and could produce a patronus and was a champion seeker. Harry Potter believed in him. He just might survive this ritual after all.

Smiling shyly at Harry, Neville pushed open the kitchen door. But the sight that met his eyes dissolved all his confidence as quickly as a riddikulus charm could banish a boggart.

Professor Severus Snape sat at the kitchen table with Remus, calming sipping a cup of tea. Remus smiled as they entered. "Good morning, boys."

Neville was going to die in a humiliating and messy way. He ought to just kill himself right now and spare himself the embarrassment.

Beside him, Harry growled, "What is he doing here?"

Snape looked up from his tea with a sneer, and Remus awkwardly cleared his throat before regaining his composure and saying, "Professor Snape asked to observe the ritual. Since I know how ready the both of you are," he stressed, gazing earnestly at them as if to assure them of his confidence, "I'm sure you'll be happy to demonstrate your abilities in front of one of your professors."

Neville was dying already. He could feel the gangrene eating at his intestines.

"But- but-," Harry sputtered.

"Calm down, Harry," Remus cautioned. "You're making Neville nervous."

"I'm not the one he's nervous about!"

Rigor mortis had definitely begun to set in. He could no longer feel his legs below the knees.

"Come now, gentlemen," Snape said with a smile like a kelpie about to snare a victim. "Mr. Lupin has been telling me all about the preparations you've made. I've reviewed your plans, and he tells me you've been practicing. I am simply here to observe and marvel at your prowess. If you are as prepared as he says you are, I shall indeed be...," his grin showed a disturbing amount of teeth, "...amazed."

A whimper escaped Neville, and he prayed that an earthquake would hit London and swallow him up.

Taking his arm, Harry steered him toward a chair on the other side of the table from Snape. "You're right," he said with an air of bravado. "Neville's ready. He's going to knock your socks off!"

Snape smirked. "Won't that be a thrill?"

Neville collapsed into his chair, barely able to move his limbs. Harry filled a bowl full of Witchabix, doused it in milk, and placed the lot in front of Neville. The sight of the soggy biscuit made him want to vomit. Desperately he looked away, and his eyes met Remus's, who gave him a sort of half-apologetic smile. It didn't make him feel any better.

"Neville's going to do really well," Harry commented as he shoveled food into his mouth. "He's brilliant with herbs. That sage he grew - it's really -," he waved his spoon as if he could scoop the world he wanted right out of the air, "- green," he finished emphatically.

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Fascinating. Of course, it is a plant, so one would expect it to be green. However, in my experience sage ought to be on the silvery side, so perhaps its greenness is not a good sign."

"That's what it is!" Harry protested. "It's silvery green!"

Neville desperately wished Harry would just shut up.

"Very Slytherin colors," observed Snape. "How sporting of you."

Remus cleared his throat, noisily and at length. Snape turned to stare at him, remarking, "Why, Lupin, you should take care. You seem to have caught a cough."

"Yes, a summer cough, no doubt due to all the hot air blowing about."

Snape smirked and said nothing, mercifully returning to his tea.

The rest of the meal passed with rather strange, slightly sniping small talk between Lupin and Snape, while Harry attacked his breakfast with the intensity of a Viking preparing for a long day of pillaging and plundering, and Neville fretted that his Witchabix seemed to be mocking him.

When the meal was finished, and all the dishes washed and put away, the four of them headed up to the laboratory. Harry grabbed Neville's sleeve and pulled him up the stairs, whispering fierce encouragement in his ear which Neville couldn't even hear over the rush of his rising panic.

With a final friendly grin at Neville, Harry pushed open the door and they entered the laboratory. The freshly-scrubbed walls, floor, and yes, even ceiling, all gleamed in the faint morning light coming in from the covered windows. The furniture had been removed, and nothing remained in the room but a few shelves on the walls, and the materials for the banishment spell and purification charm.

"All right, Neville," Remus said with a warm smile. "You know what to do."

Snape stood next to Remus, arms folded across his chest, his face void of any expression, which was an improvement over his usual scowl. Harry bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, a bundle of kinetic energy, like a snitch waiting to be released before a Quidditch match. Neville closed his eyes, forcing all three of them out of his mind. He visualized the opening steps again, moving his lips as he silently recited the words of the spell. Then he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and began.

He knelt by the small brazier that stood in the center of the room, placing several chips of holly wood in it, ignoring the three pairs of eyes that watched his every move. No need to rush. If he rushed, he'd fumble and forget things. He kept his movements slow but steady. When the wood chips were arranged to his satisfaction, he struck a match and set it to the tinder, blowing on the chips as the fire caught and curled along the edges.

When the fire was going strong, he turned and picked up the bowl of ground bloodstone. His eyes swept briefly over Harry and Remus, who were smiling and nodding in encouragement, to land on Snape. Something dark flashed in the professor's eyes, and Neville quickly looked away. He would not let Snape get to him. He had designed the ritual himself. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Bowl in hand, he got to his feet and began sprinkling a thin border of powder around the edge of the room. He tapped the bowl lightly, spilling the powder with care. There could be no breaks in the circle.

"Must you work so slowly?" Snape grumbled. "At this rate, we'll all be older than Dumbledore before you finish laying the powder."

Neville ducked his head as Remus said, "You're doing fine, Neville. Take as long as you need."

Snape heaved an impatient sigh, and Neville tried to ignore him. But his hands began to sweat, and his fingers slipped against the smooth brass bowl. He had to pause and wipe his hands on his shirt before continuing.

He finished one wall and had started on another when Snape strode up to inspect his handiwork. The potions master knelt and extended a bony finger toward the powder.

"Don't touch it!" Harry snapped. "You can't disturb the circle!"

Snape's head whipped around to face him. "I know that, Potter! I'm not the one whose clumsiness could jeopardize this spell."

Ignore him, ignore him, Neville chanted to himself. Harry believes in me. Remus believes in me. He kept tapping on the bowl, pouring out a steady trickle of powder.

"Severus," Remus warned.

"Who ground this bloodstone?"

"Me and Neville did!" Harry said.

"Mean Neville, is it?" Snape scoffed. "Well, mean Neville did a poor job. The grain should be fine and consistent. This looks like you took a sledgehammer to the stones."

"Severus," Remus said again, his voice low. "What are you doing?"

"It's obvious what he's doing," Harry fumed. "He's trying to make Neville nervous!"

Neville glanced up to see Remus staring strangely at Snape. "Professor Snape would not do that."

"He does it in class all the time!"

Again, in that low voice, Remus said, "He would not sabotage this ritual."

Snape scowled. "I am not the one in danger of sabotaging it! You're the one who put an idiot child in charge!"

"How dare you!" Harry shouted.

"Harry, be silent," Remus commanded. He glanced over at Neville, who had stopped working and was watching them. "Continue with the ritual, Neville, and don't lose your concentration, no matter what happens. Understood?"

Remus spoke with an authority that Neville had never quite heard from him before. Remus's command somehow overrode his fear of Snape, and he bent once more to his task.

"Honestly, Lupin," he heard Snape hiss, "you can't expect that squib to succeed."

"Don't you--!"

"Harry! Be silent!" Remus ordered. "Severus, something is wrong."

Neville glanced quickly over his shoulder to see Remus physically holding Harry back, while his eyes remained steadily fixed on Snape. He tried to shut them out of his thoughts and focus on the powder.

"Something is indeed wrong when Longbottom is in charge," Snape continued.

"No, Severus, something is wrong with you."

"Oh? And how is it my fault that the boy is a failure?"

"You would not say such things, Severus." Remus's voice was low and firm.

"Yes, he would!" Harry interjected.

"Harry!" came the rebuke. Then, his voice gaining intensity: "Severus would not sabotage the ritual."

"I am not-," Snape began.

"You would not say and do such things, Severus. You would stop this."

"You don't know what--." Abruptly, Snape cut himself off.

Neville fought the urge to turn around and see what was happening. Instead he focused on the powder, finished with the second wall and starting on the third.

He heard several harsh panting breaths, and then Snape spoke. But the cruel edge in his voice was gone. "There are spirits here," he said to Remus. "They were controlling me, but I threw them out of my mind. Was Black's father a necromancer?"

"I don't know," answered Remus.

"He must have been. This room contains the spirits of the dead that he summoned. Longbottom!"

Neville jumped and almost dropped the bowl. He turned to see Snape glaring intently at him, but not in anger.

"Longbottom, continue with the ritual. We must banish these spirits, or they will keep attacking us."

"Why do you care?" Harry snapped. "You want Neville to fail."

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter."

"You've always wanted him to fail. You pick on him all the time, but the truth is you're a rotten teacher!"

"Harry!" Remus barked. "That's enough!"

Harry turned on Remus. "Why did you bring him here? He can't be trusted."

The venom in Harry's voice was shocking. Neville knew he hated Snape, but he couldn't believe Harry had the nerve to speak to a teacher like that. He paused in his work, glancing anxiously at Harry.

"Loathsome, miserable failure!" Harry sneered.

"Harry," Remus said, astonished.

But Snape watched Harry with wary eyes. He raised a warning hand toward Remus. "Lupin," he cautioned, "be careful."

"What?" Remus asked, confused, but in that moment of distraction, Harry seized Remus's wand from his pocket and pointed it at Snape. Half a second later, Snape had his own wand out, and the two of them faced off against each other. Neville froze.

"Harry!" Remus called out, but Harry only cackled.

"Are you threatening me, Snape? Do you really think I would be afraid of you? I've faced the Dark Lord himself! You're just a pathetic excuse for a Death Eater."

Wand held defensively before him, Snape said, "Potter, the spirits are in you now. Fight them off."

"Don't be ridiculous! I don't need any spirits to make me hate you, and I certainly don't need them to help me kill you." Harry's eyes narrowed, and he flicked his wand at Snape. "I could kill you easily, and the world would thank me for it."

Not letting down his guard, Snape said, "Remember your occlumency lessons, Potter!"

"Oh yes, the lessons you stopped giving me, even after Dumbledore ordered you. Really, you must be the worst teacher in the entire history of Hogwarts."

"Potter, concentrate. Throw them out."

"Why don't you attack me, Severus? Is it that you know you can't defeat me?"

Snape paused. "Who are you? Potter would never call me Severus."

"Oh, clever," Harry sneered. "You always were bright. Too bad your intelligence didn't translate into bravery. You feared the Dark Lord, and now you're frightened even of this little boy."

"I am not frightened."

"Then why don't you attack?"

"I will not harm a student."

"Funny, when I knew you, you had no qualms about hurting people. And this boy especially - Potter's son. Wouldn't it serve the arrogant bastard right for you to murder his brat?"

"You know nothing about what I want."

Harry's lips curled in a vicious smile. "Oh, don't I? I wonder, Severus, if perhaps you have a soft spot for the Potters."

"Don't be ridiculous," Snape scoffed.

"Oh, certainly not James or Harry," came the reply. "But Lily - she was a pretty thing, wasn't she? Far too pretty for an ugly thing like you."

Snape's face darkened with rage, and he clutched his wand so hard it bowed from the strain. "Silence!" he hissed furiously.

"O-ho! I've hit close to the mark, haven't I?"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

Snape raised his wand to strike, and Remus frantically called out, "Severus!"

"'Severus', is it, werewolf?" cackled Harry. "Disgusting half-breed! Wasn't it enough for you to ensnare my brother? But then, he always did like wild things."

Comprehension dawned on Snape's face, and he visibly struggled to regain his control. "Regulus," he spat.

Harry looked back at him. "That's right, your old schoolmate. Have you missed me all these years?"

"Your father," Snape continued, not answering the question. "He was a necromancer. He conjured your spirit."

"Yes. He was very skilled at conjuring the dead. He did a booming business after the war, working on behalf of pure-blood families who'd lost loved ones at the hands of those Muggle-lovers. The spirit of many a valiant witch and wizard are here, lingering in this room. But I am the strongest. My father conjured me often. I was never so close to him as I was in death. He loved me, unlike your miserable parents. How can it be, Severus, that a pathetic loser like you could still live, while I died? It isn't right." The spirit's hatred gleamed through Harry's eyes. "But I can use this boy to right that wrong." He raised his wand, preparing to throw a curse at Snape.

"No!" Remus called out, raising his hands as if to ward Harry off, but Snape stepped in front of him.

"Potter! Remember your occlumency lessons! You must fight them off! Concentrate!"

"Fortunately for me, you were the boy's teacher. He won't have learned his lessons."

"That's not true. Potter, you were able to throw me out of your mind. You can do it again!"

"No, he--." Harry stopped suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Concentrate, Potter!"

"No - don't!" Harry trembled, gripping Remus's wand so hard he almost broke it in two. With a tremendous groan he shook his head hard. Then he blinked and opened his eyes.

Something like a blast of cold air blew over Neville, and he couldn't move. A voice inside his head said, Hello, little boy.

As if from a great distance, he watched Snape and Remus cautiously reach out to Harry, heard Harry say that he'd been controlled by the spirits.

That's right, the voice said. He's a powerful fellow. Who would have thought he could throw us out? But you're another story, aren't you? We saw Snape's memories: you're little more than a squib. Yes, we're all going to get along just fine.

No! Neville fought to say, but not only would his lips not move, he could scarcely form the thought in his head. Against his will, he set down the bowl and walked unnoticed toward the threesome talking in the center of the room.

Just watch this, little boy. This is going to be fun!

Remus finally noticed him. "Neville, go back to work on the ritual. We have to finish--."

"It's all right," the spirits said, speaking through him. "I've got the spirits under control."

Now Harry and Snape looked at him, the potions master frowning. Neville cringed at that look, but his head turned away and his eyes came to rest on Harry. "It's all right, Harry," he said. "It's me. It's Sirius."

No! Neville tried to scream, but to no avail. He had no more ability or will than a puppet: the spirits controlled him completely.

Harry's eyes grew round, and Remus too looked stricken, but Snape said, "Don't listen to him. The spirits are in him."

"Yes, they're here," Neville said, "but I've got control of them. They can't do anything."

"It's a lie," warned Snape.

Neville's eyes remained fixed on Harry. "No, Harry, it really is me. It's so good to talk to you. I've missed you so much."

Harry's lip trembled, and Neville despaired at the sight. How can you deny him this moment? the spirit taunted him. See how he misses my dear brother? We can tell him exactly what he wants to hear. And not only him.

Neville's gaze turned to Remus. "And you, Moony, my dear friend."

That name - Moony - Neville had heard it before, but he couldn't remember where. Yet at the name, Remus's breath quickened, and a look of desperate longing crossed his features.

"I've missed you both so much. I've watched you suffer. I wanted so badly to talk to you, to tell you it's not your fault. You mustn't blame yourselves for my death."

Neville could only watch as both Harry and Remus absorbed his words eagerly. But Snape was not fooled.

"Do not listen to him. That is not Sirius Black." He raised his wand, preparing to cast a spell on Neville.

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape's wand flew out of his hand and straight into Harry's palm. Snape wheeled on him. "Potter, give me my wand back!"

"No! You were going to hurt him."

"I won't hurt him. I'll only silence him."

"No, I want to hear him speak!" Harry protested.

Snape turned on Remus. "Lupin, you must realize that cannot possibly be Sirius Black!"

"But I am!" Neville said. "I'll prove it. Harry, do you remember the gift I gave you at Christmas? The two-way mirror?"

"Yes!" Harry said. "I never used it. I wish I had."

"I do, too," Neville said kindly.

Tears stood in Harry's eyes. "I've tried calling to you since, but you're not there. I've looked everywhere in this house for your portrait."

"I know you have. I've watched you."

Harry's eyes were filled with such love, Neville couldn't bear to see it, but the spirits would not let him look away.

"I want so much to talk to you," Harry whispered.

"This is our chance."

Snape looked straight at Neville, eyes boring into him, and when he spoke, his voice was strong and powerful, lancing through Neville's mind like a gong and overpowering the spirits. "Longbottom, I know your Defense class learned how to resist Imperius. This is the same! Throw them out of-"

Silence! the spirit voices roared. You can't resist, little boy. You'll crack, just like your parents did.

Neville wanted to weep, wanted to dig his own eyes out and tear out his tongue in order to get rid of these spirits. But he was powerless. He wasn't strong like Snape or Harry. He could do nothing.

As they continued to control him, and his gaze turned relentlessly to Remus. "And you, dear friend. Moony. I have so much to say to you."

Remus hung back, uncertain.

"I know the last few months were hard. I did not treat you well. You have no idea how much I regret that. But never doubt how much I treasure your friendship. How much I've always treasured it."

The lying words broke through Remus's composure. His expression crumbled, and he stepped forward. "Oh, Sirius."

But Snape caught his arm, holding him back. "It isn't him!"

Remus shook his head. "But he knows!

"They do not know! They got that information from my mind or from Potter's."

Neville spoke up. "You see how he continues to distrust me? Some things never change."

Remus regarded him, torn between hope and fear. "Sirius..."

Still Snape held him back. "Test him, Lupin. Ask him something only you and Sirius Black would know."

As Remus hesitated, Snape looked to Neville once more, his commanding voice slicing deeply into Neville's mind. "Longbottom, the Imperius--!"

Out! He is ours!

Neville tried to wrestle his mind free of them but he couldn't do it. It was so much easier just to let them have their way.

That's right, little boy, the spirits taunted. Just let us handle things. You can't possibly fight us. Longbottoms were always the easiest to overcome.

No, he knew that wasn't true. His parents had lasted longer than anyone ever had against Cruciatus. They were heroes. Even now, his mother had fought to protect that doll, to protect him. He had to throw the spirits out of his mind. I'm not yours! Neville thought. I'm Frank and Alice Longbottom's son!

And soon you'll join them in St. Mungo's.

"Lupin," Snape urged. "Ask him."

Slowly, Remus said, "How - how did you first learn I was a werewolf?"

The hold on Neville's mind weakened slightly as the spirits focused on Remus.

I am Neville Longbottom! he thought. He could almost hear his own voice in his head.

But the spirits still controlled him. "Moony, how can you ask about that? I don't want to talk about it in front of Snivellus."

Neville concentrated, focusing on the memory of his mother protecting the doll, even as he fought to protect his own mind.

"Tell me," said Remus quietly.

"I don't want to tell our secrets in front of him."

Harry looked back and forth between Neville and Remus, who said, "You're dead, Sirius. No more secrets now. How did you learn I was a werewolf?"

The spirits kept stalling. "It was a very long time ago."

"Answer the question," Remus ordered.

As the spirits faltered, Neville concentrated hard. I am Neville Longbotttom!

"I am--."

No! the spirits shrieked. We control you! Do you remember this, boy?

Agonizing pain speared through him, like the curse Bellatrix had cast on him. It was the Cruciatus all over again. But this time he refused to fail. He clapped his hands to his head, fighting through the pain to gain control. But it hurt so much.

Harry stepped forward. "Sirius?"

Pain like fire destroying his nerves, but he fought it. Not Sirius. I am Neville Longbottom! The thought burned in his mind, licking at the edges of the pain, fire against fire. It felt like his head would explode.

No! the spirits cried. Tell them, you are Sirius Black!

I'm not! I am Neville Longbottom!

"I am Nnnnn--."

White-hot heat built behind his eyes. He couldn't see anything. He couldn't hear anything. He squeezed his head, trying to keep his brain from shattering.

We'll kill you! Miserable squib!

Not a squib! I am--

"NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!"

The name ripped out of his throat, and he collapsed on the floor, head pounding in agony. It hurt so much that it took him a moment to realize the spirits were gone. He blinked his eyes open to see Snape bending over him. He was lying on his back on the floor.

"Longbottom, are you all right?"

He grunted, unable to form any words.

Harry hovered over Snape's shoulder, his expression heart-broken. Neville felt so sorry for him. "H-harry."

"Rest a moment, Longbottom," Snape cautioned. "Your nose is bleeding. You may have been injured in the struggle"  
He raised a shaking hand to his nose and felt something warm and moist on his upper lip. He looked up to see Remus standing behind Snape, eyes glittering strangely.

"We need to finish the ritual," Snape advised. "Potter, get the bowl and resume laying down the powder."

"But it's Neville's ritual!"

"Potter, do not contradict me! Mr. Longbottom has been through a fierce battle. He is in no shape to continue the spell."

While Snape and Harry argued, Remus knelt down and reached out to Neville, wiping the blood from his upper lip. He raised his hand, intently studying the bright red smear on his fingertip. The look in his eyes frightened Neville.

Remus stuck out his tongue and licked the blood off his finger. Then, so softly that Neville almost couldn't hear it, he growled.

Snape's head whipped around just as Remus leaped at Neville, snarling. Snape threw himself bodily at Remus, and they rolled to the side, grappling for dominance. Harry gasped in alarm and seized Neville's arm, pulling him up and away from the struggling men.

They watched in horror as Remus rolled onto his feet, growling like a wild animal. He seized Snape by the front of his robes and hauled him up, throwing him against the wall. Snape struck out, but Remus didn't seem to feel the blows. He launched himself at Snape, teeth bared as if he would bite. Snape managed to twist away, but Remus grabbed him again and threw him to the ground. Remus was fast and strong, and it was clear Snape could not possibly win this fight.

"Harry!" Neville said. "You have to stop him!"

"How?" Harry asked, panicked.

"You've got their wands!"

Harry stared in surprised at the wands in his hand. "I can't hurt Remus."

"But he's going to kill Professor Snape!"

For a moment, Neville worried Harry might say, "Let him." But after a brief hesitation, Harry stepped forward, raising Remus's wand and pointing it at the two men.

"Petrificus totalus!"

The spell hit Remus square in the back. He stiffened and fell against Snape, who collapsed beneath him. Gasping for breath, Snape pushed Remus off him and staggered to his feet, looking even more pale than usual.

"About time, Potter," he said, his voice trembling. "Boys, you must continue with the ritual. I'll try to get Lupin to cast the spirits out. They're making him think he's a werewolf. But listen - do not finish the spell until Lupin casts the spirits out. If we banish them while they're still in his mind, he could be seriously damaged."

"Yes, sir," Harry answered. He turned to Neville. "The fire's dying down. You tend it while I finish laying the powder."

Neville nodded, his head pounding with the movement. He knelt by the brazier as Harry scampered off for the bowl of bloodstone powder. The fire had almost burned out. He lay fresh chips in the fire, while watching Snape crouch over Remus.

Remus lay stiffly on the floor, but he was still conscious, saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth.

Crouched next to him, Snape urged, "Lupin, listen to me. There is no full moon. It's daylight. The spirits are in you, making you think you're a werewolf. But you're not. You're a man, and you must take control."

Remus's eyes rolled in his head, but Neville couldn't tell if he even understood what Snape was saying.

"Cast them out, Lupin!" Snape said. "You are not a werewolf! Take control of yourself!"

Neville glanced quickly at Harry, who had finished laying the powder along the third wall and was well on his way to finishing the fourth. The fire was burning well, and Neville held the bundle of sage, waiting to say the final spell and burn the herbs that would banish the spirits.

But the spirits were still in Remus. He lay on the floor, rigid but trembling, his eyes squeezed shut, his breathing labored. A thin trickle of blood leaked from his nose, and Neville wondered if the spirits were hurting Remus as much as they'd hurt him.

A hand seized his shoulder, startling him, and he jumped.

"It's just me," Harry said. "I'm done." Both of them watched Remus, silently urging him on along with Snape.

Blood flowed freely from Remus's nose. Suddenly he stiffened, crying out, and went limp.

Snape turned to Neville and Harry. "Complete the spell, now!"

Furious at the spirits who had attacked them all, determined to protect his friends - even Snape - the way he wanted to protect his parents, Neville drew on every reserve of his power and shouted the incantation. He threw the sage onto the fire and it burst into flames, flaring so brightly Neville had to shield his eyes.

The flame died down, and Neville took a deep breath. The air seemed cleaner somehow, less oppressive.

Snape rose to his feet and approached them, a bruise forming on his cheek where Remus had hit him. He held out his hand. "Potter, my wand."

Without a word, Harry gave it to him, and he turned and pointed it at Remus. "Finite Incantatem." Released from the body bind, Remus heaved a deep breath and rolled over onto his side, curling in on himself.

Snape watched him for a moment, breathing hard as if recovering from a great exertion. Then he turned to Neville. "Salt would not have been strong enough to banish those spirits. You were correct to use bloodstone, Longbottom." His lip curled into a shadow of his usual sneer. "I suppose even you can get something right at least once."

It was no doubt the closest Snape would ever come to paying him a compliment. Neville only wished he wasn't too worn out to savor the moment properly. 


	15. Chapter 15

With the ritual at last completed, all of them were exhausted. Snape tended to Remus, while Harry and Neville swept up the bloodstone powder, mixed it with the ashes, and buried it in the backyard.

After that, each of them went their own way. Neville retreated to his room, lying on his bed. His head still ached, but more than that, he felt disheartened. It made him sick to know he had been used to play on Harry and Remus's emotions like that, pretending to be Sirius. Nothing could have been more cruel. And even though he hadn't been a willing participant, still he hated having been the agent of suffering for his two friends.

And there were his own inner demons the spirits had taunted him with: Snape insulting him, the spirits hitting him with his own memories of Cruciatus. He'd had no idea such evil spirits were lurking in that laboratory. No one had predicted it.

He lay on the bed in his darkened room, listening to the faint scuffling of Trevor on the prowl for beetles; Harry in the room next to his, no doubt distraught over his false glimpse of Sirius; Remus overhead, mortified by his lapse into lycanthropy; Snape - well, somewhere, thinking who knew what.

But above all he thought of his parents. Fourteen years at St. Mungo's. Fourteen years of not being in control of their own minds, at the mercy of their own demons. He'd been able to throw the spirits out and regain control of his mind, but his parents could not break free. Is that what it was like for them? Did alien forces control their words and deeds, while somewhere deep inside they raged helplessly, unable to gain control? Did they know they were mad? Could they hear the mediwizards talk about them, and yet be unable to respond? Could they see the people who visited them, and yet be unable to communicate? He could not bear the thought of them trapped in their own bodies, locked in a living prison for which there was no escape.

At last thoughts of his parents drove him out of bed. His headache flared again as he sat up, but he wanted to read the medical files. There had to be some clue, some hint that his parents still existed, and he only needed the right key to set them free.

Trevor croaked from underneath the desk, and Neville knelt on the dusty carpet to peer into the darkness. He could just see a faint gleam of light reflecting off the toad's large eyes. Holding out his hand, he urged, "Come on, Trevor. Let's go to the library. Lots of bookworms for you to eat."

Trevor licked his eyeballs, as if considering the change of diet, then waddled out into Neville's waiting hand.

Cupping the toad to his chest, Neville headed downstairs, not even bothering to check at Harry's door. Harry would emerge when he was good and ready, and not a moment sooner.

The house seemed strange and still. The spirits might be gone, but the unease they had generated lingered, lending an oppressive air to the silence in the halls. Neville passed quickly down the hallway, avoiding the portraits, who seemed even more irritated than normal. With a sigh of relief, he pushed open the door of the library, only to stop short when he saw Professor Snape seated in Neville's own favorite armchair.

Snape looked up at his entry, an open book in his lap, although he didn't look as if he'd been reading it. Neville's head pounded as his breath caught in his throat, and he had to remind himself that he wasn't breaking any school rules by entering the library at Grimmauld Place.

The lines of Snape's face were deeper than usual, and his voice was weary as he said, "Longbottom. How is your headache?"

Trevor wriggled in Neville's hand, and he forced himself to loosen his grip. "M-much better, sir. I-I'm sorry to disturb you. I only wanted to get -." He paused, not sure what to say.

Snape waved a hand. "Well then, get it, Longbottom. Don't just stand around gawping like a grindylow." He returned his gaze to his book.

After a moment's pause, Neville approached the desk next to Snape. "Sorry, Trevor," he whispered, clutching the toad as he struggled to get away.

Not looking up, Snape said, "Talking to your familiar?"

"I - it's only - he likes the library. The bookworms, you see."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "How practical. You may leave him here, if you wish. I've noticed that many of the books are damaged. The beast might as well make itself useful."

Neville hesitated, reluctant to leave Trevor alone with Snape. The potions master had threatened too often to test various concoctions on him. But Trevor would be cranky if Neville denied him his treats. Slowly he knelt and released the toad, who happily hopped toward the shelves.

Keeping a wary eye on Snape, Neville went to the table and sorted through the files. He had been studying the ingredients of the potions Dr. Driftwood had prescribed for his parents. It all sounded alarming, such quantities and combinations of powerful herbs and infusions. But he didn't know if that was normal for medical potions or not. He'd even consulted his class notes, but the notes made little sense, for all that he usually copied them from Hermione. Nor did it help that the parchments were often burned or half eaten away by some caustic potion that had managed to leak all over the desk.

Anxiously chewing his lip, Neville glanced over at Snape. The professor's head was bowed over his book, hair flanking the sides of his face like greasy curtains. Then again, Neville thought, who needed notes when you could ask a real live teacher? On the very few occasions when he had ever dared ask a question in class, he had only incurred Snape's wrath at his ignorance. It wasn't fair. He got in trouble for knowing too little, and Hermione got in trouble for knowing too much. He couldn't imagine that Snape would be any less pleased with his questions outside of class. But this wasn't about marks; this was about his parents. He should be willing to risk Snape's displeasure if there was even the slightest chance he could help his mum and dad.

As Neville agonized over what to do, Snape said without looking up, "Do stop staring at me, Longbottom. If you have something to say, then say it."

Neville winced. "Y-yes, sir." He forced himself to calm down. What was the worst Snape could do? He'd just had evil spirits possessing his brain and torturing him with the memory of Cruciatus. Yet he had been able to exorcise the spirits. He could exorcise his own fear, too. "It's about my parents' medical treatment," he began.

Snape looked up, puzzled. Heartened by this lack of overt hostility, Neville continued, "It's only that they're on so many potions at the same time. And one potion has henbane, and another has bloodwort, and I remembered you saying in class that the two combined could damage the memory." He faltered. "Or something like that. Maybe I remembered it wrong."

Snape closed his book, marking his place with one bony finger. "No, that is correct."

The admission surprised Neville, and he almost forgot what he'd been saying. "Well - so - I mean, that doesn't sound very good, then, does it?"

Snape stroked his chin, contemplating. "It would depend on what the potions are for, and how strong the presence of both ingredients. Sometimes the benefits outweigh the risks when the potions are used carefully for a short period of time."

"Oh. Well, my parents have only been on them for two years."

"Two years?" Snape repeated, frowning. "You must be mistaken, Longbottom. No mediwizard would prescribe a combination of henbane and bloodwort for such a long period of time."

Neville glanced at the files, wondering if he'd made a mistake. He skimmed through his notes. "They started receiving the potions in 1994, and the records show twice a week ever since."

Snape stood, abandoning his book, and leaned over Neville's shoulder, leafing through his notes. "That can't be right. You must have read the files wrong."

"I-I don't think so." He opened one of the files and pointed to the potions log. "I asked Dr. Driftwood about it, and he said -."

"Driftwood? Otis Driftwood?"

He didn't sound happy, and Neville cringed. "Y-yes, sir."

The professor's eyes glittered. "Driftwood oversees your parents' care?"

"Yes, sir. Do you know him?"

Snape stared down at the files, running a long finger down the potions log. "I do not know him, but I am familiar with his work. He espouses a radical form of treatment for severe spell damage, but I think he relies too heavily on long-term use of powerful potions to -." He cut himself off.

"What?" Neville asked, so eager to hear Snape's opinion that he forgot to be scared. "What is it?"

Snape glanced sharply at him. "Why are you studying your parents' medical records? This is far beyond your level of comprehension."

Taken aback, Neville stammered, "I-I know that. But they're my parents. I have to take care of them. I want to understand what's wrong with them and what their treatment is. I know it's all very complicated. But when I ask Dr. Driftwood, he never quite answers my questions. And so much of what he does seems to go against what you taught us in class."

"Astounded as I am to hear that you may have actually retained some of what I have labored so many years to teach you, Longbottom, nevertheless I am no mediwizard. I am not qualified to comment on your parents' treatment."

Disappointed, Neville said, "Yes, sir. Sorry."

Snape looked down again at the files. "However...I do have reservations about Driftwood's theories. It might not be amiss to seek a second opinion."

Neville looked up eagerly. "Please, Professor, could you recommend someone? I wouldn't have the faintest idea who to ask."

Snape considered. "There is one person, a former student of mine, Dr. Meena Chatterjee. She is highly regarded as an expert in the medical use of potions."

"Oh, thank you, sir! Can you tell me how I can reach her?"

"Let me contact her myself. She is very busy. But perhaps...would you permit me to review these records?"

"Of course, Professor. They're all here. And these are the notes Harry and I have been taking."

Snape took the offered scroll, glancing over it quickly. He scowled. "For pity's sake, Longbottom, how many times must I tell you, there is no 's' in 'tincture.' T-U-R-E, not S-U-R-E."

"Sorry, Professor."

"Now, leave me in peace while you go check on Potter. No doubt he's moping around upstairs. That boy elevates teen angst to Shakespearian proportions."

"Yes, sir, I'll check on him." Neville all but skipped to the door, ecstatic at the promise of someone who could help him with his parents. At the door, he turned back to Snape once more. "Professor - thank you. You don't know how much this means to me."

Snape looked at him, again with that non-hostile expression that seemed so strange on his features. "You can thank me by learning to spell 'tincture' correctly."

"Yes, Professor!" Neville sang out. Then he left the library and went to find Harry.

"It's me," Neville announced as he knocked on Harry's door.

There was a pause, then he heard a muffled, "Come in."

He pushed the door open and peeked his head through. There were no lights on, and with the windows covered, the room was gloomy, even though it was still broad daylight outside. A dark shape moved on the bed, and he could just discern Harry sitting up, his hair even more mussed than usual.

Neville crossed the room and sat down on the bed next to Harry, not sure what to say.

Harry didn't look at him. "I wish we could go outside and play Quidditch."

Neville didn't see how he would really help much, since he couldn't play Quidditch if his life depended on it. "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

Harry got up off the bed and meandered over to Hedwig, sitting on her perch with her head tucked into her wing. He scratched her head. "I guess that wasn't really Sirius," he said at last.

"No. Sorry." Even though it wasn't really his fault, he couldn't help but feel guilty about it.

Harry said nothing further, and Neville stared down at his lap. He noticed a frayed spot on the left knee of his trousers. Too much kneeling in the greenhouse. He poked his finger at the spot, worrying at it until he had a little hole going. Gran would yell at him for ruining his clothes, but he didn't care. The trousers were getting too short anyway.

Harry sighed, and Neville looked up. Harry was flipping through the stack of Quidditch magazines on his desk. "What's Remus doing?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him."

"Maybe we should go find him. He could take us into the city."

"He didn't seem to be in very good shape after this morning," Neville pointed out.

Harry shrugged, still looking at the magazine.

"Oh, hey!" said Neville. "Guess what? I was talking to Professor Snape, and he said--."

Harry looked up, scowling. "You were talking to Snape?"

"Yes. He was in the library, and I--."

"Why would you want to talk to him?"

"Well, I was asking about the potions that Dr. Driftwood--."

Anger flashed in Harry's eyes. "You can't tell him about that! He's a Death Eater!"

A shiver ran up his back at those fearsome words. "No, he's not. He's a professor."

But Harry did not waver. "That doesn't stop him from being a Death Eater. Supposedly he's a spy for our side, but I don't believe it."

Neville knew Harry hated Snape, but this didn't make sense. "If he were a Death Eater, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't let him teach at Hogwarts."

"Dumbledore's made mistakes before, hasn't he?" Harry argued. "Remember Quirrell? He had Voldemort living in his head our whole first year, and Dumbledore didn't even know! And he's wrong about Snape, too."

Neville hunched his shoulders. He didn't like to think that Professor Dumbledore could make such a serious error, but Harry did have a point. "But he helped us with the spell this morning."

Harry turned on him, fists clenched at his sides. "He tried to kill you!"

"No he didn't. He helped me get the spirits out."

Harry stalked toward the bed. "Don't trust Snape, Neville. He's a liar, and he hates all Gryffindors. He killed Sirius!"

"What?" Neville asked, confused. "I thought - I thought She killed him."

"Yeah, well, they're mates, aren't they? They're both Death Eaters!"

Neville recoiled. While he certainly had no love for Snape, it was very hard to believe the man was in league with You Know Who. And he'd been almost nice down in the library. It just didn't seem possible. Then again, Harry was the Dark Arts expert.

Neville stared miserably down at the hole in his trousers. If Snape was evil, then that meant he hadn't helped Neville's parents at all, and he was right back where he started.

On his own.

Author's Note: I'm sorry to announce that there will not be a post this coming Thursday! Instead, posting will resume next Monday. THANK YOU to everyone for reviewing! (And I also thank all the lurkers for reading, too.) 


	16. Chapter 16

Note: Thank you for your patience! Hopefully now I will be able to resume the regular schedule, at least for a while.

Chapter Sixteen

The rest of Neville's day hadn't gotten any better. Harry had been too restless to sit still long enough to play any games, and too irritated to want to talk. Neville finally managed to beg off from Harry's company and go to work in the greenhouse. He had stayed up there until dinnertime, doing little more than worrying at the hole in his trousers until his entire knee could poke through it. Then he started in on the other knee.

Neither Snape nor Remus had appeared for dinner, and Neville and Harry had eaten a bowl of Cauldron Noodles in stony silence. By the end of the meal, Neville was so miserable he went to bed.

When he woke the next morning, he had made up his mind. If Harry wanted to be a brat, that was his problem. Neville was heartily sick of having to deal with The Boy Who Pouted.

Unfortunately, when he went downstairs for breakfast, Harry was already in the kitchen, mashing his Witchabix with a spoon. He didn't say anything to Neville, and Neville didn't say anything to him. They just sat scowling at their breakfast, and Neville wondered how much trouble he'd get into if he ran away again, this time by himself.

The door opened, and both boys looked up, eager to see Remus. But it was Snape who entered, gingerly slinking into the room without his usual menacing bluster. He looked rather like Gran after one of her late nights drinking blood martinis and playing Canasta with her cronies. He crept toward the tea kettle and pulled out his wand, preparing to cast a heating spell on it, and Neville called out, "It's already hot, sir."

Snape flinched at his voice and turned to stare at them as if he hadn't known they were there. He straightened a bit. "You gentlemen are up awfully early, aren't you?"

"It's half past ten, Professor."

Snape grunted and seemed to deflate a bit at that. He turned back to the tea kettle and poured himself a large cup, which he held in both hands to keep from spilling as he moved carefully to sit at the table.

Harry moved as far away from Snape as he could, scraping his chair along the floor and prompting the professor to scowl.

"Must you make so much noise, Potter?"

Jumping in before Harry could say something they would probably all very much regret, Neville asked, "Are you all right, Professor? You seem unwell."

"I am fine, Longbottom," Snape growled, as if Neville had accused him of smelling bad. "It's the beds in this place. Bloody uncomfortable."

"Sorry, sir." Neville could feel Harry glaring at him, but he felt like he ought to be polite to Snape. It still seemed like the professor had helped him yesterday, and he just couldn't believe the whole Death Eater thing.

Snape scowled and looked down his long nose at their breakfast bowls. "Don't you people have anything more substantial to eat around here than Witchabix and Cauldron Noodles?"

"Gran says fiber is good for you."

"You are not a rodent, Longbottom. You need more than that for a balanced diet."

While Neville was used to being scolded by the potions master, it was not usually on a topic so parental in nature. Snape seemed less and less like a Death Eater with each passing moment. Neville glanced at Harry to see what he thought about the whole thing. Typically, however, Harry was scowling at his Witchabix.

They sat in awkward silence, each of them focusing on their breakfasts and avoiding each other, when the door opened again.

"Remus!" Harry shouted, with the first hint of happiness Neville had heard from him since the previous morning.

Remus winced and raised a hand to rub at his temple. He looked even worse than Snape. "Good morning, Harry," he rasped, mustering up a weak smile. He staggered to the table and eased himself into a chair.

"Longbottom, get him some tea," Snape ordered. Neville hopped out of his chair and headed for the kettle as Snape continued, "You need to eat something, Lupin."

Remus grunted and reached for the box of Witchabix, fishing out a biscuit and nibbling on a corner of it. Neville returned with the tea and set it in front of Remus.

"Thank you, Neville," Remus said.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I'm shocked that the three of you haven't starved to death in this house."

Harry glared at him. "Why should you care?" he spat.

"Indeed, why should I?" Snape retorted. "Two fewer Gryffindors at Hogwarts next term can only be an improvement."

Harry turned to Remus. "Why is he still here?"

"None of us was in very good shape last night, Harry," Remus explained, dipping his biscuit in his teacup. "Severus was kind enough to stay and watch over us."

"We don't need his help!" Harry fumed. He scowled at Snape. "This isn't Hogwarts. It's our house, and you're not welcome here!"

"Stop it, Harry," warned Remus.

But Harry would not be deterred. "You shouldn't be sticking your big, ugly nose --."

"Harry!" Remus barked, furious. "SHUT UP!"

Neville's jaw dropped. He couldn't believe Remus had just yelled at Harry. Neither, apparently, could Harry. He sat rigidly in his chair, his mouth opening and closing. Neville could tell he was working himself up to an explosion. After all, he'd witnessed plenty of fights between Harry and Ron.

"Now," Remus said, his voice lower but no less firm. "Apologize to Professor Snape."

"What!" Harry gasped. "No way!"

"You've insulted a professor. And my guest."

"I'm not apologizing!"

"Then go to your room!"

Harry froze, completely shocked. It took him several moments to find his voice. "You-you can't say that. If Sirius were here, he'd --."

"Sirius is dead, Harry," Remus said quietly. "And I'm the one who's here."

Harry flinched, as if Remus's words had literally made a physical impact. All the fight went out of him, and his face crumbled. Without a word, he got to his feet and fled the room, slamming the kitchen door as hard as he could in a final defiant statement.

Remus winced at the noise and raised both hands to his head. "I'd kill for a hangover potion."

Neville realized he'd been holding his breath, and he let the air out of his lungs with a whoosh. He glanced over at Snape, who was staring into his teacup, a line between his eyebrows. His silence surprised Neville. He'd never seen the potions master speechless before.

No one spoke at all for a long time. Snape sipped at his tea, Remus nibbled at his biscuit, and Neville watched his Witchabix slowly dissolve.

At last Snape set his teacup down. "Well. It would appear you've got your day cut out for you, Lupin. I'll leave you to it, then."

Remus looked up at him as he stood to leave. "Severus, thank you for yesterday. For everything."

Snape made a curt nod. "I'll see you at the next Order meeting." His black eyes shot to Neville. "Longbottom, I'll let you know what I hear from Dr. Chatterjee."

"Thank you, Professor," Neville squeaked.

Snape glanced back and forth between the two of them. "Good day, then, gentlemen." He drew his robe around him and left, with less noise but as much theatricality as Harry had.

Remus tilted his head at Neville. "Dr. Chatterjee?"

"Professor Snape said she could give me a second opinion on my parents."

"Ah." Remus returned to his Witchabix biscuit.

"Remus." Neville hesitated. He didn't know who to trust right now, or what to believe. But Remus had always been honest with him. He licked his lips. "Harry says Professor Snape is a --." He lowered his voice. "A Death Eater."

Remus frowned, much as he had at Harry earlier, and Neville couldn't bear his disapproval. "Professor Snape is not a Death Eater."

"Harry says Professor Dumbledore says he's a spy for our side. But..." He didn't know what to add, other than that he was hopelessly confused, which was his normal state, so he hoped Remus could figure that out without him having to say it.

Remus closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples, sighing deeply. "Neville, you know that Voldemort is back. You know that there are those of us preparing to fight against him when the time comes. Some of us do very dangerous work, at great personal risk. It's not my place to tell you the Order's secrets; we have to be very careful, because there are people who could lose their lives if some secrets came out. But believe me, Severus Snape is entirely trustworthy. He would risk his life to protect you and Harry, and all the students at Hogwarts." He smiled. "I know he's not always the most pleasant of people, but I can assure you, he is not on Voldemort's side."

Neville pondered this while he licked milk off his spoon. He was more willing than Harry not to have everything explained to him. On the contrary, there were many things he'd just as soon not know. All he needed was to know whom to trust, and if Remus said Snape was trustworthy, then that was good enough for him.

Satisfied, he said, "I think Harry's having a rough time."

Remus sighed. "Yes. Things have never been easy for him, have they? I'll have a talk with him. We'll see how it goes."

Neville looked up at him. "Are you all right? I mean, after yesterday?"

"I'm fine. Or I will be, once I get over this hangover."

"Hangover?"

"Yes." Remus looked embarrassed. "Professor Snape and I over-indulged a bit last night. And you, Neville? Are you all right?"

"Yes. Do you think maybe, if Harry's up to it, we could go out for dinner later? Professor Snape says we don't eat right."

"We'll see, Neville." Remus chuckled. "Far be it from me to contradict a Hogwarts professor."

Remus tapped lightly on the door. "Harry? Might I come in?"

There was no answer.

"I know you're awake," he said. "I can hear you moving around. Werewolf ears, you know. Very sensitive."

More shuffling from inside the room, but still no approach to the door. Remus sighed and rubbed at his neck. He never had gotten that hangover potion.

"I found something in the library I thought you might like to see." He paused. "If you're not interested, I'll just give it to Neville."

He waited, ear cocked to the door, and was rewarded with the sound of footsteps on the other side. He smiled. Bribery had never failed to work with Sirius when he was in one of his moods. Remus had become an expert in dealing with petulance.

The door opened and Harry peered up at him, lower lip protruding in a caricature of a pout, but he couldn't conceal his curiosity. "What is it?"

Remus held up a copy of Werewolves: Malady or Madness? Harry silently read the title and glanced up in confusion.

Handing him the book, Remus instructed, "Look at the inside back cover."

Harry flipped open the book. "Property of Hogwarts Library. Due date 6 April 1973."

"I knew Sirius never returned the book, but I had no idea it was here," Remus said. "No doubt Madam Pince would love to have it back, but you might want to keep it for yourself."

Harry shrugged. "Why would I want a book about werewolves when I can just ask you anything I want to know?"

"Oh, I think you might prefer the book. Sirius and James made quite a lot of notes in it."

Harry's eyes widened, and he leafed through the pages. Finding one scrawled with diagrams, he looked up and smiled. "This looks like a strategy for a Quidditch play."

"Hmm. I didn't say all the notes would be educational." Remus took advantage of Harry's distraction to enter the room. "Then again, you might find their Quidditch strategies more informative than the book itself."

Nose buried in the book, Harry wandered over to the bed and perched on the edge of the mattress. Remus let him browse while he cautiously approached Hedwig. He didn't get far before she opened her wings and glared at him, sensing the wolf in him. He backed off and she settled down again, though still keeping a wary eye out.

"Oh look," Harry said. "Here's an acrostic. Looks like Sirius's handwriting." Running his finger down the page, he read, "Severus Snape: Shit-eating vermin evil rat --."

"Harry, stop," Remus hastily called out. Perhaps giving him the book was a bad idea.

Laying the book in his lap, Harry said, "I have a hard time believing Sirius would ever want me to apologize to Snape."

Remus closed his eyes, struggling to suppress his irritation at both James and Sirius for dying and leaving the parenting role to him. He'd never wanted this job. "It's not about Professor Snape, Harry. It's about growing up and taking responsibility for your own actions. You don't have to like him, but you are far too old to fly into a temper over him."

"But it's all right when he does it, is that it?" Harry retorted.

"Of course not, but it's not your place to correct him. And why are you telling Neville that Snape is a Death Eater?"

"Because he is! He has the Dark Mark!"

"That was a very long time ago. If Professor Dumbledore saw fit to forgive and trust him, we ought to as well."

"Not me," Harry scowled. "There are some things that should never be forgiven."

A chill curdled in Remus's gut. "I certainly hope not. Severus Snape is not the only person Dumbledore has forgiven. And I have abused his trust far more than Snape ever has."

Harry seemed taken aback by that, and he looked down at the book in his lap. "You're a thousand times better than Snape."

With a bitter laugh, Remus said, "Thank you. I wish I shared your good opinion of me." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Remus raised his hand, hoping to cut him off. "Look, all I'm asking is that you not let Snape get to you. Rise above it. I mean, look at Neville. Snape's very hard on him, yet Neville doesn't hurl insults at every provocation."

Harry scowled. "That's because Neville's a --." He stopped himself.

"What?" Remus said sharply.

Awkwardly, Harry shrugged. "He's a--. I mean, he's --."

"I'll tell you what I saw yesterday, Harry," Remus said. "I saw Neville overcome his fear of Snape. I saw strength of character and a generous nature. I wish I could say the same of you."

Harry stared down at the book in his lap, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. Standing at the window, Remus watched as Harry slowly flipped through the pages of the book. At last Harry said, "Well, I'm not going to apologize to Snape. And you can't make me."

Remus sighed deeply and shook his head. "No, I can't make you. Only you can decide to be a better person than Sirius and I and your father were."

A frown line appeared between Harry's eyebrows. "I don't understand you sometimes. They were your friends, and yet you say such things about them. The things you say about Sirius - it's as if you didn't like him at all."

"Harry, no one is perfect. It's not disloyal of me to acknowledge that Sirius could be a right unpleasant bastard sometimes. But what kind of a friend would I be if I rejected people for having human faults? Friends are the people who stick by you even when you're at your worst." Remus's voice softened with memory. "James and Sirius certainly stood by me when others would have turned away. They were the best of friends. But I still think you could pick a much better role model than the three of us. And whatever you may think of Neville, I can tell you he's a better man than we were at his age."

"You think I should be like Neville?" Harry asked skeptically.

Remus smirked. "Maybe not in all things. But I do think you could learn from his patience and even-temperedness."

Harry absorbed that in silence, flipping through the book once more, and Remus took it as an encouraging sign that Harry didn't contradict or argue with him. He ventured over to the bed and sat next to Harry, looking over his shoulder at the book.

Harry stopped on one of the pages and tilted it toward Remus, pointing at an illustration of a half man-half beast with a furry beard and long, dripping fangs. "That doesn't look at all like you."

Remus chuckled. "No. But then I daresay werewolves don't generally care to sit for portraits."

Harry ran his fingers over the picture. "You know, at the Ministry, the Death Eaters were after a prophecy. It was supposed to be about me and Voldemort. But the thing is, Dumbledore says it might have been about Neville. It could have been either of us. Neville could have been the Boy Who Lived."

Remus's heart clenched within him. The burden was hard enough for Harry to bear, but Remus couldn't imagine Neville having to deal with it. "Does he know that?"

"No." Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I feel like I ought to tell him, but I don't know how. It doesn't seem right to just go up to someone and say, 'By the way, it might have been you Voldemort wanted to kill so badly.'" He looked up at Remus. "Do you think I should tell him?"

Remus let out a long breath. "I have no idea, Harry. What did Professor Dumbledore say?"

"He said it was my decision." Harry bit his lip. "I think I should, but..."

"Well, when the right time comes, I'm sure you'll tell him. And speaking of Neville, he suggested we go out for lunch." Remus stood. "I'm going to go downstairs. When you're ready, come down and join us."

He left Harry to look through the book and think about what they had said. 


	17. Chapter 17

On the next hospital visitation day, Neville went downstairs for breakfast with the Muggle game he'd bought from the twins under his arm. He set it on the table and went to pour himself some tea.

"Is that for your Gran?" Harry asked.

"Um, not exactly."

"You don't think she'd care for dirty-word Scrabble?" grinned Harry.

Neville returned to the table, cup of tea in hand. "I don't know. Whenever I swear, she sticks my mouth shut. But of course she can swear whenever she likes."

"That's like with my aunt and uncle. They go mental when I swear, but they never do anything to Dudley."

"That's not very fair."

Harry shrugged. "That's life with the Dursleys. So who's the game for, then?"

Neville sipped his tea. He wished Harry would drop it, because it was a stupid idea. "I-I thought my mum might like it."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "Your mum."

"You know. Maybe she'll like the letters."

Harry considered this for several moments, then his face lit in a bright smile. "Neville, that's brilliant!"

Surprised, Neville said, "It is?"

"Of course! I can't believe we didn't think of it before."

Neville hardly dared get his hopes up, but he took it as an encouraging sign if Harry liked the idea. "You really think it will work?"

"I don't know, but it's certainly worth a try. Would it be all right if I came with you?"

"Sure."

Harry beamed at him. "Terrific. I think this is going to be a great day."

They could certainly use one, Neville thought as he stared into his teacup.

Remus waited in the tearoom while Neville and Harry went to the fourth floor residents' ward. As they approached the nurse's station, Nurse Nettlethorne looked up at them, one painted eyebrow rising when she saw the box under his arm. "What's that you've got there, Mr. Longbottom?"

Reluctantly, he handed it over for her inspection. "It's a game."

"Your parents can't play any games," she said as she opened the box and poked through the contents.

"I know," Neville muttered. "But I thought my mum might like it."

Replacing the lid, she frowned at him. "Very well. But she can't play with this without supervision, and she won't be able to keep it. She might try to swallow the tiles."

"I know," Neville said sullenly as he took the box back.

Nurse Nettlethorne looked back and forth between Neville and Harry, as if she didn't approve of them. "Have a nice visit, boys."

Suppressing a scowl, Neville pushed the door open, Harry close on his heels.

"She's a cheery person," Harry muttered. "More like a prison warden than a nurse."

Neville didn't say anything. The description was too apt. He drew nearer to his parents' end of the room, where his mother sat in a chair by his father's bed, rocking back and forth and wrapping a lock of hair around her forefinger. When he passed into her line of vision, she looked up at him and shouted, "No tomatoes!"

"I know, Mum. Did they give you some for breakfast?" He glanced at Harry. "She won't eat red food. One time they gave her cherry pie, and she threw it all over Nurse Nettlethorne."

Harry grinned. "I bet it improved her looks."

Neville smiled and turned back to his mother. "You remember Harry, Mum?" But she wasn't paying attention to either of them. She was plucking strands of her hair out one by one.

"Please, Mum, don't do that," Neville said, touching the back of her hand. "Look, I brought you something."

He and Harry pulled up two chairs, and he set the box on his mother's bed. Her eyes followed his every move as he opened the box and poured all the tiles into the lid. Harry assisted him in flipping the tiles over, letter-side up. Then he laid out the board and pushed it toward his mother, arranging the lid with the tiles next to it.

"What do you think, Mum?"

Her eyes moved back and forth from the board to the tiles and back again. Slowly she reached for one of the tiles and picked it up, holding it in front of her, mere inches from her nose. It was a J. Neville held his breath, waiting to see what she would do - and hoping desperately that she wouldn't try to eat it.

Her nose wrinkled, and she threw the tile across the room. It landed on the floor and skittered under another patient's bed. She picked up another tile, an O this time, and threw it away as well.

"Quick!" Neville told Harry. "We've got to collect those tiles!" He and Harry scrambled to fetch them as she threw them away. Letters flew in all directions, and the other patients got into the excitement, shouting them on or trying to catch the tiles from their beds.

"Good shot, Mrs. Longbottom! This one landed in my pudding!"

"Ow! Trying to take my eye out, are you?"

"You, boy! One of 'em went under my bed."

"Here, Mrs. L! Chuck one at me! I'll catch it!"

Harry dove under the bed of a middle-aged witch with pigtails, who squawked in indignation. "I say! This is trespassing, young man!"

He crawled out from under the bed, dust in his hair, clutching a handful of tiles to his chest. "I sure hope she's not tossing these out in order. I don't know which ones came first."

"There are so many of them," Neville lamented, as a wizard extended a glass containing his false teeth and a letter P. "How will we ever sort them out?"

The claps and shouts died down, and Neville realized his mother was no longer throwing the tiles around. He and Harry found the last few tiles with the help of some of the patients, and headed back to dump the letters on the bed. His mother leaned over the board, arranging and rearranging a handful of tiles, lining them up carefully within the squares.

"Hang on," Neville said. "Maybe she only threw away the ones she didn't want."

He and Harry crept closer. Laid out in the center of the board was a 4 x 4 square of letters:

L L L E

E E A A

I I N N

F R K V

There was one extra tile, a C, which his mother was pushing around the edge of the square as if trying to find a place where it would fit.

Neville looked up at Harry and met his eyes.

"What do you think it spells?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. Would you go get a quill and paper from Nurse Nettlethorne? We can try to figure it out."

Harry nodded and headed out of the room while Neville stood behind his mother as she picked up the little wooden trays and arranged them around the tile square. But the C still wouldn't fit, and she pushed it around the edge with her finger, trying to find a place for it. Distressed, she rocked back and forth in her chair, eyes on the squares, moaning quietly.

Neville studied the tiles. Despite their grouping, something about them looked familiar, suggesting words to him. The top row looked like the end of his name, and the "FRK" on the bottom...

All at once it hit him. He didn't need a quill and paper to work out what the tiles spelled. He knew: FRANK, ALICE, NEVILLE.

"Oh, Mummy," he whispered.

The tiles blurred and swam before his eyes. He blinked, but his vision only worsened.

"Neville? Are you all right?"

He looked up to see Harry staring at him in concern, paper and quill clenched in his hand. But Harry was blurred, too, and that's when Neville realized he was crying.

"I know what it spells," he said, working around the lump in his throat. "It's us. It's our names: hers and Dad's and mine."

He wiped at his eyes, but he couldn't clear his vision. The tiles shifted and merged, one little unit, guarded from the world by a wall of wooden trays. She remembered him. She knew he was part of their family. He wanted to hug her, to bury his face in her shoulder and kiss her cheeks, but his mother seldom responded well to being touched. The love was there, but they couldn't share it. He couldn't break through the protective wall she'd built around herself to tell her he was there and he loved her.

Neville sat next to his mother, unable to stop his tears. He was vaguely aware when Harry left them alone. His mother moaned and rocked herself, while his father lay in the next bed, unmoving and oblivious. They were all together, yet still separated. It was so unfair. Yet somehow she knew.

He stared at the pile of tiles on the bedcover. Slowly he sorted through the letters, fishing out eight tiles and placing them one by one on the edge of the board. I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.

He held his breath, hoping she wouldn't throw them away. She stopped rocking as he laid the tiles out, and when they were all lined up, she stared at them for a long moment. Then she scooped them into her hand and placed them in the center of the board. When she was finished, the C was no longer left out. All the letters formed a perfect square of five by five tiles, enclosed within the trays.

L L L E U

E E A A O

N N I I Y

F R K V E

C I L O V

Her task complete, she settled back in her chair, eyes on the tiles, and began to hum. Neville recognized the tune.

It was his lullaby.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's note: I apologize for the week-long delay! Spring Break, and all that. Not that I actually get a spring break, but it did end up impacting my life more than I thought. Posts will now resume on their regular schedule!

The visit to his parents gave Neville hope, so when Snape sent a floo message that evening informing him that Dr. Chatterjee had agreed to consider his parents' case, his spirits lifted even more. Even Harry couldn't find fault with Snape's timely arrangement, and though he was no more fond of the potions master than before, at least he pitched his grumbles about Death Eaters to an almost inaudible level. He even insisted in accompanying Neville and Remus on the visit to Dr. Chatterjee.

On the appointed day, they followed a carefully prepared floo route to the College of Magical Medicine where Dr. Chatterjee conducted her research. After two short stops, Neville stepped out of the fireplace and into a large stone entry hall. An indignant voice squawked, "Good Lord, not another one!"

The voice had the pinched tone of a portrait, and he looked up at the walls to see a row of mediwizards and witches glaring down at him. One of the portraits, of a witch wearing a winged headdress like an enormous white albatross, frowned down her nose at him. "When did the College of Magical Medicine become a kindergarten?"

"All these children!" a sour-faced wizard added. "Little germ factories is what they are!"

"How true," a deep voice grumbled.

But that voice did not belong to a portrait. Neville turned to see Professor Snape standing in the center of the room, arms crossed over his chest in typical imposing fashion. Harry hovered over by the wall, as if trying to keep his distance from Snape, and he smiled gratefully when Neville saw him. Harry had insisted on flooing before Neville, as if he were afraid to leave Neville alone with Snape.

There was a rush of air from the fireplace, and Remus stepped through.

"Thank heavens it's not another brat!" the witch with the albatross headdress exclaimed.

The witch next to her sniffed, "Though this one hardly looks like the reputable type."

Remus's brow wrinkled as he frowned up at the portraits, and Snape smirked.

"This way," he ordered, as he spun on his heel and headed down a hallway, like the Angel of Death.

The other three trotted to keep up with him, their footsteps clattering down the long hall. The sharp tang of formaldehyde stung Neville's nostrils, as well as other scents both unidentifiable and unpleasant. They passed large doors with signs on them, like "Magical Regeneration of Internal Organs" and "Medicinal Uses of Venom (Invertebrates Only)". Some of the doors were open, revealing steaming rooms of bubbling potions, or walls hung with sinister-looking medical instruments. One was lined with shelves of glass jars filled with blood. The shelves were labeled by species, including "goblin," "giant," and "vampire."

Neville looked away, his head spinning. "That's disgusting."

"Did you see that room back on the right?" Harry whispered in his ear. "I saw a mediwizard going in, and it looked like they were operating on someone in there."

Neville groaned and clutched his stomach. "You didn't really need to tell me that, did you?"

"Gentlemen!" Snape barked at them from down the hall. "Stop gawking and keep up! We don't want to waste Dr. Chatterjee's time!"

Neville whimpered, and Harry grabbed his elbow, pulling him down the hall.

They had just caught up to Snape and Lupin when they stopped in front of a door bearing a brass sign that read, "Dr. Meena Chatterjee, Medical Potions Research."

Snape knocked on the door, and a high voice called out, "Well? Don't just stand around! Come in!" He opened the door, and they entered a laboratory filled with pipettes and tubes and multi-colored vials. At least four cauldrons simmered over flames of varying intensity. Jars of ingredients were scattered over the worktables, amid stacks of open books and scrolls.

"Wow," Harry said softly to Neville. "This place looks like something out of a mad scientist film."

Before Neville could ask what a mad scientist was, Snape rumbled, "Miss Chatterjee, this lab is a disgrace! Did you learn nothing from all your years of study with me? You're just begging for disaster with all this clutter lying about."

From somewhere in a dark corner of the lab, a voice replied, "And how many times have I told you: why put things away when I'm only going to need them again?"

Snape picked up a jar, uncorking it. "Look at this! You've got beetle wings in a jar labeled 'salamander livers.'"

"Professor Snape, are you touching my ingredients?" The owner of the voice appeared from behind a bookshelf. She was a short witch, on the pudgy side, her hair bound in two braided buns on top of her head like mouse ears. Her pink mediwitch robes were stained and burned in places, and she had purple ink stains on her chin and the tip of her nose.

Snape scolded, "Your jars are mislabeled!"

"No, they're not," she protested, hands on her hips. "I know perfectly well what is in each jar." She stomped over and plucked the jar from Snape's hand, replacing it on the table.

Snape scowled at her. "Perhaps your obstinate Hufflepuff brain can remember, but anyone else using this laboratory would not."

"That's why no one else is allowed to use my laboratory." Her bright, black eyes caught on Neville, Harry, and Remus, and she blinked rapidly. "Who are these people?"

Snape gestured to Neville. "This is the student I told you about, who needs a second opinion about his parents."

"Oh, yes yes yes!" Dr. Chatterjee's round face lit in a wide smile, and she clasped Neville's hand, shaking it hard. "Mr. Longfellow! So pleased to meet you!" She turned to Remus, looking him up and down and tut-tutting. "This would be your father, then? Poor man."

Remus blushed and cleared his throat. "Remus Lupin, Dr. Chatterjee. I'm a friend of Neville's."

"Oh! Right." She gave his hand a quick shake before moving on to Harry.

"I'm Harry," Harry said, holding out his hand.

She shook his hand, blinking rapidly as she studied him. Her head cocked to one side in puzzlement, and she refused to let go of his hand, even when he tried to pull away from her grasp. "I say!" she exclaimed. "You look bloody familiar, don't you? Do I know you?"

Still trying to tug his hand free, Harry mumbled, "I don't think so."

"Are you sure?" she asked, shaking his hand with renewed vigor. "Don't be afraid to say if we've met before. I'm terrible at remembering people."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yet you are capable of remembering mislabeled ingredients?"

"But of course! Ingredients are important!" She finally let Harry go and gestured to include them all. "Well, don't just stand around like a flock of pigeons. Come in to my office!"

She led them on a winding route through the worktables and bookshelves to a corner of the room where her desk stood, buried under books, scrolls, and yet more ingredient jars. Next to the desk, an enormous bat hung upside down from a perch, its leathery wings wrapped tightly around itself.

"Whoa!" Harry exclaimed. "That's the biggest bat I ever saw!"

"Do you like her?" Dr. Chatterjee asked, scratching the bat's head. The bat chittered happily and flapped her immense wings, creating a breeze that blew several scrolls off the doctor's desk. "Lakshmi is an Indian fruit bat. Isn't she a dear?"

"What happened to that godawful toucan you used to have?" asked Snape. "Such an ill-tempered beast."

"Oswald wasn't the one with the ill temper, Professor; you were. Alas, Oswald died a couple of years ago. He was always drinking my potions, and I'm afraid one in particular just didn't agree with him. Fortunately, Lakshmi is too smart to go tasting potions."

Leaving the bat to settle back down on the perch, she turned and smiled at her visitors. "But where are my manners? Please, have a seat." She gestured to two chairs, piled high with melted and cracked cauldrons. While Neville, Harry, and Remus pondered what to do about the chairs, she held up a tin labeled "ferret glands." "Would anyone care for tea?"

Neville blanched, and he could hear Harry swallow hard next to him. Remus managed to say, "No, thank you."

She glanced at the tin and said, "Oh, don't worry. It's Darjeeling."

"That's quite all right," Remus again declined.

She shrugged. "Suit yourself." Setting the tin down, she clapped her hands in front of her. "So, are any of you lot fellow Hufflepuffs?"

"I'm afraid not," Remus smiled. "We're all Gryffindors."

"Gryffindors! All of you?"

"Who else would be in need of intellectual assistance?" quipped Snape.

Dr. Chatterjee burst into giggles. "Oh, Professor Snape! You're so droll!" She wiped a tear from her eye and got herself under control. "But seriously, Mr. Longfellow."

"Longbottom," Neville quietly corrected.

"What? Oh, yes yes." She waved a dismissive hand. "Mr. Longbottom, I understand your parents are under the care of Dr. Otis B. Driftwood?"

"Yes, ma'am." He opened his bookbag and handed her the files he'd brought. "These are their medical records."

She took them from him, leafing quickly through the files and muttering to herself. "Yes yes. Prolonged Cruciatus. Possibly five days. Mm-hmm. Catatonia. Bloodwort? Yes yes. Bouts of aphasia. Unresponsive to scullcap and tabasheer. Both? Hmm. Interesting. I see, I see." Nose buried in the files, she edged around her desk, taking a seat as the continued talking to herself. Without looking up from the files, she reached unerringly for a blank scroll and a quill, which she dipped in a jar labeled "powdered gallstones." She set the quill point down on the scroll, and it began jotting notes.

Abruptly she looked up, blinking at Neville. "Mr. Longfellow, I wonder if you can answer some questions for me about your parents' behavior?"

He nodded, and she peppered him with questions: about their appetites, how often they caught colds, whether they responded to remarks about the weather, if they preferred to sleep on their left side or their right. Neville could barely keep up, and he could answer no more than half the questions. But his ignorance didn't seem to bother her, and she kept the questions flying while the quill scratched vigorously away on the scroll.

At last she heaved a great sigh and stood up. "With your permission, Mr. Longfellow, I'd like to meet with your parents and examine them for myself."

"Of course," Neville replied.

"Good." She rounded the desk and came to stand directly in front of him, looking up at him with an expression so intense, he had to force himself not to look away.

"My dear boy." She sighed again and took his hand, patting it lightly. "Professor Snape tells me that your parents were heroes in the war against What's-His-Name. We all owe them so very much. No doubt you know that no one has survived such a prolonged exposure to Cruciatus. It may be that there is nothing I can do to help them." She squeezed his hand and offered him a warm smile. "But I shall do my very best."

Tears stung in his eyes, and he fought to keep them back. "Thank you, Dr. Chatterjee."

"It is such a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Longfellow." She gave his hand a final shake and turned to Remus. "And you, Mr. - er - Whoever." And on to Harry, who hastily clasped his hands behind his back as she tilted her head and frowned pensively at him once more. "Mr. Potter, are you sure we haven't met?"

"I'm sure."

"Any older brothers or sisters who went to Hogwarts?"

"No, Doctor."

"Cousins?"

He shook his head.

"Oh, well. It'll come to me." She turned on Snape next, throwing her arms around him in a hug. "Professor! It's always such a pleasure to see you!"

He grimaced, holding his arms away from her. "Miss Chatterjee, kindly cease this ridiculous display!"

She released him, beaming at Neville and Harry. "I'm sure Professor Snape is your favorite teacher, just as he was mine!"

Behind her, Snape rolled his eyes, and the boys refrained from commenting.

"Now Miss Chatterjee, we've taken up enough of your valuable time. I'm sure you have very important research to attend to. However, I insist that you re-label those jars."

"Oh, Professor, you're so droll! If I re-label them, how will I know what's in them?" She waved a hand at him. "Well, good-bye to you all. Mr. Longfellow, you can expect to hear from me in a week or so."

They bid her farewell and left her laboratory, walking down the hallway with less alacrity than when they had arrived.

Walking next to Snape, Remus remarked, "Well, Dr. Chatterjee certainly is affable."

Snape harrumphed. "Everyone has their flaws. But she was the most capable student I ever taught. Certainly moreso than the pretentious Miss Granger."

Harry balled his fists at his sides, but Remus continued pleasantly, "That is high praise. As I recall, many of the professors considered Miss Granger to be quite bright."

"Anyone can parrot back answers," Snape dismissed. "And her sycophantic attempts to curry favor with her long-winded essays are most distasteful. But it takes true dedication and hard work to master the intricacies of potionmaking. Miss Chatterjee understood the theory from the inside out. She had the highest scoring NEWT results since 1952."

"Really?" A hint of amusement tinged Remus's voice. "Why, that would mean she scored higher than you."

Snape walked several steps in silence, his robes billowing behind him. "When I sat for my NEWTs, there were other pressures distracting me. I did not perform at my best."

That sounded like an excuse to Neville, but to his surprise, Remus seemed to take it seriously. "Oh. Of course."

Neville glanced at Harry, who seemed just as perplexed as he was. Harry only shrugged.

"Well," continued Remus, "she seemed quite fond of you. It must be rewarding to have a student who has succeeded so well."

Again Snape did not reply at first. Neville thought that was very strange. Why wouldn't he appreciate the compliment?

At last the potions master said, "She works very hard."

Remus looked ahead. "You have a right to be proud of her. And maybe even a little fond of her, as well."

"Honestly, Lupin!" Snape protested, but his complaint lacked his characteristic bite. 


	19. Chapter 19

They flooed back to Grimmauld Place, but Snape didn't leave immediately. The boys had noticed that he'd been spending more time at the house, arriving early for Order meetings or staying late. It annoyed Harry immensely, but he gritted his teeth and managed not to snap over it. Since Snape was not overtly hostile, they all got along in a kind of truce. Neville was just grateful that whenever Snape showed up, he and Remus disappeared into a corner of the house together and left the boys alone. Neville figured they were working on something for Dumbledore, perhaps the next phase of the development of the laboratory. He didn't care what it was, so long as it kept Snape out of his and Harry's way.

So when they returned home, Remus and Snape went off to do whatever it was they did, and Neville and Harry went upstairs to the greenhouse. Neville set Harry to water and fertilize the beds while he replanted some seedlings.

Harry held the watering can beneath the faucet, watching it fill. "That Dr. Chatterjee was rather odd, wasn't she?"

"Yeah," said Neville as he gently pulled a seedling from its pot. "But I liked her. Seems strange that she would be so good at potions, though."

Harry shut off the faucet and carried the can over to one of the beds. "I know what you mean. She's not who I would picture as Snape's favorite student."

"He sure yelled at her a lot. Makes you wonder why he yells at me so much. Maybe I'm his favorite student now."

Harry looked up, shocked, and Neville snickered. Harry mock-scowled at him. "Oh, go on. Anyway, I don't think it's anything personal. It just means he yells at everybody."

"Bet he doesn't yell at Dumbledore," Neville pointed out, carefully placing the seedling in its new bed.

"No, I imagine not. Still, I could see Snape having a favorite student sooner than I could ever see anyone having him as their favorite teacher. Even if you loved potions, how could he be your favorite teacher?"

"I have no idea. Remus was my favorite teacher."

"Mine, too," Harry agreed. "I wish he'd come back to school."

"Yeah. But then I expect we'd have to call him Professor Lupin again."

"Probably." Harry set down the watering can and wandered over to where Neville was working. He fingered the labels Neville had placed in the beds, reading them aloud, "Bloodwart, henbane, nightshade..." He trailed off, looking up at Neville. "These are all ingredients in the potions your parents take."

Neville focused on pressing the soil around the seedling, not meeting Harry's gaze.

When he got no answer, Harry asked, "Why are you planting these? Are you going to try making the potions yourself?"

Neville reached for another seedling. "I can't possibly brew potions. You know that."

"Then...why?"

Neville remained silent, pulling the seedling out of the pot and placing it in the hole he'd prepared. He tucked it into the soil as if he were a parent tucking his child into bed. The comparison was so apt, he had to suppress the urge to kiss the tender leaves.

"It probably sounds stupid," he said at last, "But it's a way to sort of be close to them. It's not like I can really do anything. I don't even know if Dr. Chatterjee can help. But I just --." He sighed, unable to express his feelings.

Beside him, Harry picked up one of the seedling pots and handed it to Neville. He was standing so close, their arms touched, and he briefly pressed his shoulder against Neville's. "I understand," he said softly.

When they went downstairs for dinner, they found Snape sitting at the kitchen table, watching Remus as he stood by the stove, stirring a large pot.

"Ah, there you are!" said Remus as they entered. "I was about to send Professor Snape to call you. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes."

Snape's lip curled at the mention of his name, and Neville had no doubt that all four of them were relieved that Snape hadn't had to perform that chore.

"Would you boys mind setting the table?" Remus asked cheerfully. "No Cauldron Noodles tonight. Mrs. Weasley stopped by with some groceries. It seems Professor Snape told her we were in immanent danger of malnutrition. He doesn't believe I can cook, so I offered to make dinner tonight."

With a sneer, Snape said, "Fortunately I stock the medical potions in this house myself, so none of us should suffer any permanent ill effects if your...experiment is a failure."

"It's not an experiment," Lupin returned, stirring at the bubbling pot. "I've been cooking for myself for years."

"Yes, but everyone knows that werewolves have stomachs of iron. You could probably eat anything and be none the worse for it. Ordinary humans, however, have more specific nutritional requirements --."

"Yes, yes, I know," dismissed Remus. "My stew is perfectly edible, I assure you. And if it's not, I promise to eat a shoe for your amusement."

With a sharp clatter, Harry set the plates down on the table. He was scowling at Snape's barbs, but after seeing how Snape bickered with Dr. Chatterjee, Neville viewed the potions master in a different light. Remus didn't appear to take insult, so Neville figured he shouldn't, either.

When the table was set, Remus ladled the stew into bowls, and they all sat down to eat. Harry no sooner put a spoonful into his mouth before he exclaimed, "This is the best stew I've ever tasted!"

Neville snickered, and Remus smirked. "Why, thank you, Harry. But does it meet with our potions master's approval?"

Snape took a small bite, rolling it in his mouth as if he were a wine-taster. "It will do," he pronounced. "Though it is awfully bland. You ought to add some seasonings."

"There are herbs in my greenhouse you can use," Neville offered.

Remus beamed. "There you are! You see, Severus? We won't starve, and I won't murder the boys with my cooking."

"I've got sage," Neville said, ticking herbs off on his fingers, "and rosemary and oregano --."

"Are you growing any scullcap?" Snape interrupted.

Neville blinked in surprise. "For cooking?"

"Of course not. But scullcap is very useful to have on hand."

"Yes, I've got some."

"What variety? American or Chinese?"

"American."

Snape frowned. "Chinese is far superior."

"Professor Sprout says so, too," Neville hastily agreed, "but it's not available this time of year."

Snape returned to his stew. "I'll bring a cutting from her store next time I come."

"Really? Thank you, Professor!"

"It's not for you, Longbottom. But if you're going to have a greenhouse here, it ought to be of practical value and not merely for flavoring Lupin's mediocre cooking."

"Of course, sir!" babbled Neville, forgetting himself in his excitement over the prospect of cuttings from Professor Sprout. "Maybe you should take a look and see what we have growing. Just let me know whatever you want us to add."

Snape seemed taken aback by Neville's offer. He scowled sharply before at last relenting. "Perhaps I'll do that."

The rest of the meal passed in somewhat testy banter, but it was not as unpleasant as one would expect from a meal with Professor Snape. The potions master left as soon as he'd finished, and as they were piling the dishes in the sink, Remus said, "I almost forgot, Harry. Mrs. Weasley brought a letter for you from Ron. It's on the window ledge." Harry seized the letter eagerly, and Remus urged, "Go on and read it. I'll get the dishes."

"Thanks, Remus! I'll cook tomorrow. I cook all the time for the Dursleys."

"That sounds wonderful."

Neville hesitated, not sure if he should go or stay, but Harry called out to him. "Come on!"

They left the kitchen and dashed up the stairs to Harry's room. Harry leaped onto the bed and tore the envelope open. "I bet he's got news about Hackenbush! He's been working with Hermione to learn something important about Hackenbush's brain."

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that." Neville climbed up onto the bed, resting his back against the bedpost. He watched Harry's face as he scanned through the letter, his expression growing increasingly sour.

When he got to the end of the letter, Harry looked up and sighed. "He says Hermione could never recover anything, and now she's gone on holiday with her parents. He tried with the twins next, but all they did was give him a headache or else put him to sleep."

"What are they trying to do?"

"They have to put him into some kind of hypnotic trance, but it's really complicated. He suggests we ask Remus."

"Do you think he would do it?"

Harry shrugged. "The worst he can do is say no, right?"

They headed back downstairs and found Remus reading in the library. He looked up at their entrance and smiled. "Looking for a game of cards?" he asked, setting down his book.

"No," Harry began. He turned to Neville, taking his elbow and pushing him forward. "You tell him."

Neville blushed as Remus looked back and forth between them, a hint of concern in his eyes.

"It's just, um." Neville poked at a worn spot on the carpet with the toe of his shoe. "It's only - you know how I've been reading my parents' medical files?"

"Of course," said Remus.

"And there's this Dr. Driftwood who works with them. Only Hermione found out he used to be a student of Dr. Hackenbush. And he used to do experiments on werewolves."

"Cruciatus," Harry added, as Remus's eyes widened.

"And he went to Azkaban," Neville continued, "but Driftwood didn't. And now he treats my parents, only my mum gave me a candy wrapper with Driftwood's name scratched off. That's how this all started, really. And remember how at the Ministry Ron fell into that tank full of brains? Well, one of them was Hackenbush's, and Ron thought maybe you could help get the memories out." Neville paused, mentally reviewing the facts to see if he'd left anything out.

Remus sat in his chair, blinking up at Neville and Harry. "Ah," he said at last.

"So...would you?" Neville asked.

"Um." Remus frowned. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

So Harry repeated the story in a bit more detail, especially with regard to how to get the mad scientist's memories out of Ron's cranium. With Harry explaining things, Neville retreated to his preferred task of nodding earnestly at everything Harry said. He was much better in a supporting role.

This time when Harry finished, Remus looked less baffled. On the other hand, he didn't leap to his feet, ready for action, either. Instead, he sat in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck as he contemplated the matter. When his silence wore on, Neville prompted, "So can you do it?"

Remus looked up at him, his expression clouded. "That kind of mental magic is very delicate. Fred and George don't have that level of skill. You should tell Ron to stop at once, or he could be seriously harmed."

Neville exchanged an anxious look with Harry, who said, "But can you do it?"

Remus hesitated, not meeting their gaze. "I have some experience with that type of spell. For many years I worked with Dark Creature control. Sometimes I had to retrieve memories from people who had been traumatized by their encounters with ghouls or vampires or...werewolves. The spell involved recovering memories that had been suppressed. It's similar to what you're asking."

"So you can do it!" Harry exclaimed.

But Remus didn't look pleased to admit it. "Probably. But I'm not sure it should be attempted. You're talking about retrieving memories that aren't Ron's. Interloper memories can be quite tenacious. That's why this kind of extraction should only be done by trained professionals. The memories won't want to leave his brain."

Neville and Harry pondered this.

"But you don't have to remove the memories," Harry pointed out. "Besides, if we removed them entirely, the Ministry would wonder what had happened to them. All we want is to know what Hackenbush knew. Could you do that, just read the memories?"

Remus looked from Harry to Neville and back again. "Ron's parents don't know about this, do they?"

"Oh, come on, Remus!" Harry sighed, impatience getting the better of him. "You're not a teacher any more! There's nothing wrong with what we're doing; it's to help Neville's parents. And with you doing it, it will be perfectly safe. Anyway, when you were our age, you didn't care about rules."

A smile crept over Remus's face. "It's almost frightening how much you sound like James, sometimes. And when could I ever say no to James?"

Harry beamed. "So you'll do it?"

"I will," said Remus. "But if I sense any problems, or there are any signs that Ron might be harmed, I'm going to stop. And I'll insist that you give up on attempting it."

"Agreed," both boys answered.

They followed Remus to the kitchen, where he called the Weasleys through the floo to ask if they could visit the next day. Mrs. Weasley cheerfully agreed. With the matter settled, Remus turned to Harry and Neville. "You boys might want to turn in, then. We had a big day today, and it looks like tomorrow will be another one."

They exchanged "good nights," and the boys headed upstairs. Neville was so excited, he worried that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep. Everything was moving along so quickly. Perhaps soon he would unravel the mystery of how to help his parents. He lay awake for hours imagining what it would be like when his parents recovered, what they would say, where they would live, how wonderful it would be when they were all together again.

When he finally slipped into sleep, he had the most wonderful dreams of his life. 


	20. Chapter 20

They left the next day right after breakfast. When they arrived at the Burrow, Ron and Ginny were awaiting them with such poorly-concealed anticipation that Neville thought for sure Mrs. Weasley would know something was up. They all but pounced on Remus when he stepped through the fireplace.

"Ron, Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley scolded as they clamored for Remus's attention. "You'll knock Mr. Lupin over!" She smiled a greeting at him. "It's very good of you to bring the boys here. Bill and the twins will be joining us for dinner this evening. They are so looking forward to seeing you."

"That will be lovely," Remus politely replied.

Would you care for some tea?"

"Mum!" protested Ron. "He's going with us. We have to show him around. He's never been to the Burrow before."

"Yes," Ginny added. "We have to show him the wood out back."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "He doesn't want to be dragged around in the brambles."

"That's quite all right, Molly," Remus said. "Let them show me around, and then I'll come back to the house and we'll have that tea."

Having successfully eluded Mrs. Weasley, they all dragged Remus out into the summer sun, leading him past the pond and into the wilderness behind the house.

"I really would like to see your house," Remus said as they entered the trees.

"You'll see it later," Ron dismissed. "We need to get this done quickly before Mum thinks we've lost you and comes out looking for us."

They followed a narrow path through the undergrowth until they came to a small clearing amid the trees. The leafy canopy shaded them from the sun, and several logs were arranged on the ground for benches.

"This place is terrific!" Neville exclaimed as Ginny and Harry took a seat on the logs.

"We call it the fort," Ginny explained. "It's a Weasley tradition. Mum's allergic to nettles, so she never comes out here."

"Sometimes we camp out here in the summer," Ron said, reaching into a hollow tree trunk and fishing around for something. "Fred and George tried to build a treehouse once, but the first time Charlie climbed into it, it fell down."

Ginny pointed up into a nearby tree, and Neville spied old planks sticking out among the branches.

"I wouldn't trust anything they built, anyway," he commented.

"I bet you have a lot of fun here," Remus said.

"Oh yes," Ginny answered. "And it's great for hiding stuff from Mum." She turned to her brother. "Is that what you're looking for in that tree, Ron? Percy's old nudie magazines?"

Ron blushed scarlet, his arm buried deeply in the tree's innards. "Ginny!" he squeaked, glancing nervously in Remus's direction.

Remus smirked. "Don't worry, Ron. I won't tell."

"What are you looking for, then?" asked Ginny.

At last Ron pulled a large tin out of the tree. "This! Anyone care for a biscuit?" He opened the tin and held it out toward Harry.

Harry peered into the tin and smirked. "I don't think those are biscuits."

"What?" Ron tilted the tin to look inside at what appeared to be several dried toads. "Bloody hell!" he yelped. "Fred and George never replace the biscuits! I'm gonna kill them!"

"I don't think I'd want to eat any biscuits that have been in a tin with dead toads," Harry said.

Forlorn that his attempt to play host wasn't going too well, Ron said, "There might be some old bottles of butterbeer around here. That is, if Fred and George haven't drunk it already and refilled the bottles with elf piss or something."

Neville turned green at that, and Harry swallowed hard before saying, "That's quite all right, Ron."

"Perhaps we'd best get down to the business at hand," suggested Remus. "Especially if your mother might come looking for us."

Ron grew pale, his freckles standing out sharply across his nose. "Umm. No offense, professor, but do you really know what you're doing?"

"I have quite a bit of experience with this kind of thing," Remus assured him. "Most importantly, I know when to stop if it's not going well."

From the look on Ron's face, this failed to inspire confidence in him. He glanced at Neville. "Well, if it helps your parents, mate, then it's worth a try."

Neville could feel himself blushing, and he lowered his eyes. It was strange to have his friends risk such nastiness on his behalf.

Ron sank to the ground in front of Remus, sitting cross-legged. He took a couple of fortifying breaths and said, "Okay. I'm ready."

"If this goes right, you won't even remember what happens."

Ron nodded as Remus drew his wand out of his sleeve and held in front of Ron, waving it in an elaborate pattern while speaking softly to Ron. At first Neville watched the wand, too, but he started feeling dizzy, the magic pulling on him with an uncomfortable force. He blinked his eyes and shook his head to clear it, then looked around. Next to him, Harry swayed slightly in time with the moving wand, and Neville dug his elbow into Harry's ribs. Harry blinked and looked at him, breaking away from the spell. Without a word, they turned back and looked at Ron instead of the wand.

Ron's jaw hung slightly open, and his eyes were glazed. In fact, his expression looked awfully familiar. Neville had often seen Ron looking like this in Divination.

Remus's voice cut through the stupor that had settled over them all. "I'd like to speak to Dr. Hackenbush."

For a long moment, Ron remained motionless. His eyes stayed glazed, and when he finally spoke, his voice was thin and stretched out, as if coming from very far away. "Who are you, then? Not one of those beastly dementors, I hope?"

"No. My name is Remus Lupin."

"Thank God. I hate those dementors. The last thing I remember is those horrid creatures circling around me..."

Neville couldn't suppress a shudder. Ron's voice sounded so strange, so clearly not his own. This was even more disturbing than when he, Harry and Remus were possessed by spirits in the banishment charm. Remus talking to Ron was like talking to a resuscitated corpse. Neville looked across the circle to Ginny. She leaned close to her brother, her knee touching his. Her lips were pressed together in a worried frown, and her shoulders were tense, as if she were prepared to spring into action at the slightest provocation.

"There are no dementors here," Remus was saying, "and you don't have to remember them. Instead, I'd like for you to remember back further. I want to hear about your research on Cruciatus."

"Ah, yes," answered the wispy voice. "My life's work. Should have won awards, but they locked me up instead. Said I was mad. Mad! Could a madman do what I did?"

Neville thought of Voldemort. It seemed to him that a madman could do many brilliant things that were still evil.

"I'd like to hear about your work," Remus was saying. "I want to know what you learned."

Ron was silent for a moment. "It's all so faint now. I can't remember it well. Have I forgotten it?"

"Of course not," Remus assured him. "It's all still there. I want you to go back and find a specific memory, a time when you learned something very significant. Then it will come back to you."

While Ron stared unblinkingly into Hackenbush's memories, Remus quietly said to Neville, "Get ready to write down anything of value that he says."

Neville hastily dove into his bookbag and pulled out a scroll and quill and ink. He settled the scroll across his knees, prepared to take notes. His hands shook so badly, he hoped his handwriting would be legible.

"I remember it, I remember it!" cried Ron/Hackenbush. "Late June, 1977. We were working with a most promising subject. Otis is preparing the subject for testing right now."

At the name, Neville's hand shook so hard, he scratched a line across the scroll. "Otis? Dr. Driftwood?"

Remus looked at Ron. "Do you mean Otis Driftwood?"

"Yes, yes. A fine student. Very promising indeed. Be sure to bind her tightly, Otis! We don't want her breaking loose."

A shudder ran through the circle. "What are you preparing to do?" asked Remus.

"This subject has been most excellent. We've learned so much working with her. Amazing stamina! Of course, werewolves always last long, but she is exceptional. She hasn't burned out yet."

Remus paled. He paused a moment to collect himself. "And what have you learned from your - experiments?"

"Otis, let's try it with the belladonna extract. Five milliliters. She can certainly withstand that."

Remus looked at Neville. "Did you get that?"

"Yes," Neville said, hastily scribbling away. "I'm not sure if I spelled it right, though."

"That's all right." Remus looked back at Ron. "Five milliliters. Is that a lot?"

"My goodness, young man, are you so ignorant? Two milliliters would destroy the brain of a normal human. Even five milliliters is more than a werewolf could bear under ordinary conditions. But watch what happens." Ron's hand rose slightly from where it rested on his knee, pointing his forefinger. "Crucio."

All of them flinched reflexively. The power of the word alone shot through Neville's gut, tying his intestines in knots. His whole body broke out in a cold sweat, and he shivered.

He felt a warm hand on his back, and he looked up to see Harry looking at him in concern. "It's all right," Harry said. Neville forced himself to take a deep breath, but he pressed so tightly on his quill that the tip punctured the scroll.

"Listen to her screams, even through the gag," Ron/Hackenbush continued. "I'd cast a silencing charm on her, but I don't want any interference from other spells."

"What are you learning from these experiments?" Remus broke in before he could continue. His voice was steady, but his fists were clenched tightly against his knees. "Why are you doing this?"

"Ah, it's fascinating. We have discovered that Cruciatus actually alters one's brain waves. Basically, the brain is rewired. The effect is temporary after only a brief exposure. On the other hand, a single prolonged exposure to Cruciatus for an hour or more fries the brain completely, and the subject dies. Of course, that would be a tremendous expenditure of magical energy, very draining on the spellcaster. Not an effective way to kill someone at all."

A few seconds passed before Remus spoke again. He seemed to be at a loss for words. "How-how do you know it kills people after an hour?" he at last asked.

"Well, I'm not referring to normal humans, of course. I couldn't possibly conduct such an experiment; it would be unethical. My results are with werewolf subjects. No one misses a dead werewolf."

Remus sat perfectly still, unblinking. He didn't even appear to be breathing. The others looked worriedly at him, but before any of them worked up the courage to say anything, Remus took a deep breath and resumed his questioning, his voice calm but deadly quiet. "What are you learning from this experiment?"

"As I said, Cruciatus alters the way the brain functions," continued Hackenbush's voice. "We have found that shorter bouts of Cruciatus over a longer period of time will have more lasting effects on the brain. However, high doses of hallucinogens like belladonna can counter the effects. Like our subject here. We will cast five two-minute sessions of Cruciatus over a thirty-minute period. Subjects would normally feel the effects for a week, but she will recover in a day. Astonishing, isn't it?"

"Indeed," was Remus's faint reply.

"Yet mediwizards have always prescribed soporifics like henbane for victims of Cruciatus. Quite the wrong approach entirely."

"Henbane?" Neville gasped. "That's what Driftwood gives to my parents."

Remus's eyes widened, and he turned back to Ron/Hackenbush. "What effect does henbane have?"

"It is supposed to be calming," he answered. "Makes sense, of course. It's always prescribed for troubled minds. But when those minds have been disturbed by Cruciatus, henbane actually keeps the brain from recovering. My funders have been particularly interested in that discovery."

"And who are your funders?"

"The Asclepius Howard Fund for Medical Research. A very prestigious foundation."

"They fund Driftwood, too!" Neville exclaimed. "Hermione told us. They have lots of Death Eater money."

Remus nodded. "Did you write down what he said?"

"Yeah. I think I got it all. Henbane is bad. Belladonna is good."

"All right." Remus glanced back at Ron, still deep in the trance. "I'm going to end this. Hopefully you have enough information to help your parents." Neville, Harry, and Ginny all nodded, eager to be rid of Hackenbush.

Remus released Hackenbush's memories back into Ron's subconscious, then talked Ron out of the trance. Suddenly Ron blinked and looked around at the group.

"So it didn't work, then?" he asked. "Sorry about that, Neville."

"It did work, Ron," Ginny answered. "Remus has been talking to Hackenbush for ages."

"Really? But - but it didn't feel like any time at all. Did you get anything good?"

"Oh, yes," said Remus, his lips pressed into a grim line.

A relived smile plastered itself on Ron's face. "Well, you were loads better at it than Fred and George."

Suddenly Ginny threw her arms around Ron's neck, hugging him tightly.

Embarrassed, he yelped in protest. "What's this for?"

Her voice muffled against his shoulder, she said, "I'll be glad when that horrid man is out of your brain."

"He was that bad, eh?" He patted her on the back. "Then I'm glad I don't remember it."

After they had recounted the whole conversation to Ron, Remus headed back to the house to have tea with Mrs. Weasley, leaving Neville, Harry, Ginny and Ron in the woods. The four of them spent some time discussing Hackenbush's experiments, speculating on all kinds of nefarious schemes that Driftwood might be tangled up in, but they really had no firmer idea now than when they started, and the wild theories only furthered Neville's distress.

So the conversation soon turned, as it always did with Ron and Harry, to Quidditch. Ginny joined in as well, weighing in with her opinion of various teams, the upcoming stars, and debating the merits of all kinds of strategies that only made Neville's head hurt. He, of course, had nothing to contribute to the conversation. It should have been no surprise to him to be ignored by the other two boys, but he had grown accustomed over the summer to having Harry treat him as a peer. This sudden return to his customary role of "that other kid in the dormitory" was a bit disappointing. And it only grew moreso when Ron, Harry, and Ginny decided to return to the house for a round of Quidditch. Neville went with them because, well, there was nothing else for him to do. The idea of joining Remus and Mrs. Weasley in the house was not really very appealing. So he stayed outside and watched the others play Quidditch.

Eventually Fred, George, and Bill showed up, along with Mr. Weasley. But with each new arrival, Neville found himself more and more overlooked. He began to feel a slow burn of resentment. It seemed he was only of interest to the others because of the mystery of his parents. Harry only paid attention to him at Grimmauld Place because there was no one else around. Yet this seemed to be his eternal fate: to be out, forgotten, ignored.

By the time they headed home, Neville was in a foul mood, though the others had no clue. After all, Neville had had almost sixteen years' practice at swallowing his disappointment. He really would have liked to talk about what they had learned of Hackenbush, but right now he wanted to ignore Harry and Remus the way he had felt ignored all day.

There was, however, one other choice.

Grumbling a hasty "good night" to the others, he climbed two flights of stairs and walked down the hall to Mrs. Black's room. The gas lamps flared to life upon his entrance, and he crossed the room to the portrait on the wall. Reaching up he pulled on the cord and the curtains drew back.

Bellatrix Lestrange's portrait slowly stirred, blinking her eyes against the light and staring down at him. "Why, Littlebottom! How kind of you to drop by! It's been far too long since we last chatted."

He stared up at her. She was an unlikely mentor for him to seek out, but she certainly knew a lot about cruelty. "Why do you do it?" he asked. "Why do you hurt people?"

Her scarlet lips parted in a broad smile. "You are such a child! Do you really think it's so simple? Do you still believe you ought to place nice with others?"

"Well, it's certainly not right to torture people."

"It's not about right and wrong, child. It's about power."

Neville frowned as he considered this. "You tortured my parents because you wanted power?"

She sneered at him. "Which end of the wand would you rather be on? If you are not willing to wield the power, others will. Do you really want to trust in their goodness of heart?"

"My parents wouldn't have tortured you."

"You don't think so? We were at war. Your parents were aurors. They would have killed me if they'd had the chance."

"No, they wouldn't!" Neville protested. "They're nothing like you."

"Indeed they aren't, which is why they're on the mad ward at St. Mungo's. Listen, boy, let your Auntie Bella give you some advice. You need to watch out for yourself. Know how to defend yourself and be willing to kill. If you met me now, do you think I would hesitate to kill you?"

Neville clenched his fists at his sides, unable to say what he really wanted to say. He remembered his dreams, where he cast the Killing Curse on her.

"I come from an ancient and powerful family, child. My ancestors were hunted down and tortured by Muggles. It would be lovely if we all played nice together, but you and I both know that's not how the world works. Fear is greater than love. You cannot hesitate, you cannot hold back for a moment. You must be willing to defend yourself, or you will be crushed. My Lord knows this. That is why he is strong. It is why I am strong."

He wanted to stop his ears, but she made too much sense. Weren't other people always walking all over him? And not just people like Draco Malfoy. The Weasley twins picked on him because they knew he couldn't defend himself. Everyone thought he was meek and mild. He posed no threat, so they ignored him, thought he was a squib. They didn't care about him. Even Harry merely used him as long as it was convenient. Was Bellatrix right after all?

Her ice blue eyes stared down haughtily at him. "When you and I next meet, Littlebottom, who will win? You must decide now. If you wait, it will be too late."

Neville looked up at her. "I will win. I'll be ready."

She smiled. "I am looking forward to it."

He pulled the cord and the curtains swung closed.

He would be ready. For anything, and anyone. 


	21. Chapter 21

Note: The next couple of weeks are going to be very busy for me. I will try my very best to continue with the twice weekly posts, but I can't make any guarantee. I will do everything I can to post at least one new chapter a week. I appreciate your understanding, and I thank everyone for the wonderful reviews!

The next day was another visiting day for St. Mungo's. When they arrived in the hospital lobby, Harry and Remus bid him good-bye and headed off for the tea room so Neville could conduct his visit alone. As he walked down the hall to his Gran's room, he wondered if Dr. Chatterjee had had the chance to visit his parents yet. She'd said she wouldn't get back to him until the following week, but he was eager to ask his grandmother if she knew anything.

Tucking the box of treats he'd bought under his arm, he pushed open the door and was greeted by a shriek.

"There's my little boy!" a lavender-haired witch in blue robes squealed, descending on him to pinch his cheeks.

Neville braced himself for the attack and stammered, "Auntie Enid! Uncle Algie! I didn't know you were going to be here."

"It's a surprise, dearie!" Aunt Enid said, pressing his face to her shoulder in a hug. He gave silent thanks that he'd grown tall enough to no longer find his face squeezed between her ample breasts. Many a time he'd feared he'd suffocate before she released him.

"We came down early for your birthday since we can't come next week. Algie is giving a speech at the Society for Retired Arithmancers."

"I'd invite you to come," Uncle Algie boomed, his giant handlebar moustache quivering as he slapped Neville so hard on the back he almost fell over, "but I don't suppose you'd understand a word of it."

"Algie, stop beating the child," Neville's grandmother scolded. She looked at Neville. "Well, come on, boy, what did you bring me?"

Neville dodged his aunt and uncle, and held the box out to his grandmother. "Turkish delight."

Her cheeks wrinkled in a smile. "Oh, that's good. Excellent. Well, let's have it open, then."

He opened the box and handed it around. Aunt Enid settled down in a nearby chair and pulled out a fan of bedraggled raven feathers, fluttering it in her face. "Goodness gracious, it's hot in London! How you must be suffering, Gussie dear."

"Believe me," Neville's grandmother mumbled, her teeth sticky with Turkish delight, "I can't get back to Chipping fast enough."

"Speaking of which," said Algie, "you were just telling us about how your broken -," his eyes cut quickly to Neville, "H-I-P is coming along."

"The boy isn't an idiot, Algie," Gran snapped. "He can spell!"

"Of course," said Algie, his tone patronizing.

"My broken H-I-P is coming along, so they say. Next week they expect me to start walking, though they do insist I use a cane. A cane! Honestly, as if I'm an old woman."

"Oh, do listen to what the mediwizards say," Aunt Enid cautioned, fluttering her fan so hard it shed feathers. "We wouldn't want you to fall and break your other hip as well."

Uncle Algie made a shushing gesture. "Don't worry the boy, Enid!" He turned to Neville and smiled broadly. Neville had long ago learned to tell when his uncle was smiling by the way his moustache twitched. "And you've been staying in London this summer, Neville? Quite an adventure for you, eh?"

Before Neville could say anything, his grandmother interrupted, "He's staying with Harry Potter."

Aunt Enid's fan stopped fluttering, and Uncle Algie's moustache ceased twitching.

"Harry Potter!" Algie exclaimed. "I say! Our Neville, friends with the Boy Who Lived!"

Neville cringed at the epithet.

"They are classmates, you know," his grandmother reminded him.

Aunt Enid trilled, "Neville dear, I do hope you're minding your manners."

"I say!" Algie again exclaimed. "Awfully decent of Potter to take our Neville under his wing and all, eh?"

Neville indulged in a grimace. Everyone always talked around him at family gatherings. He could make as many faces as he liked, and they never noticed.

"I imagine he helps you study," Enid continued. "So kind of him. That must be why you've got such decent marks."

"Indeed!" said Algie. "Why, with Potter helping you, I'd wager you'll even pass an OWL or two. We've been rather worried about those OWLs, haven't we?"

Fan fluttering, Enid hissed, "Algie, don't make the boy nervous!"

"Now Neville, don't be anxious about those OWLs. No one expects you to do very well. You just study hard with Potter this year and do the best you can. We'll love you even if you don't pass a single one."

Neville clenched his teeth tightly together, but as usual was spared from answering by his grandmother.

"Honestly, Algie, can't you keep anything straight? Neville already sat for his OWLs this past year."

Uncle Algie's moustache drooped in confusion. "Did he, now? How old are you again, boy?"

"He'll be sixteen next week," answered Gran.

"Sixteen!" Aunt Enid chirped. "How our little nephew is growing up! Algie dear, fetch his present."

Algie's moustache bounced with excitement. "Ah, yes! You'll like this, boy, I promise you." From behind the door, he retrieved a long package wrapped in paper and held it out. "Go on, take it. At sixteen, you're definitely old enough for it."

Stunned, Neville reached for the package. It was long and thin - in fact, it looked awfully like a broom. His hand closed around what felt like a handle beneath the wrapping paper. Could they have actually given him a broom? Not that he had much use for one. After his first year in Madam Hooch's class, during which he broke bones he didn't even know he had, he had gone to Professor MacGonagall and begged piteously never to take flying lessons again. If his aunt and uncle had indeed bought him a broom, he would never dare to use it. But if it's true that the thought is what counts, then such a gift represented a level of thoughtfulness he'd never known his uncle and aunt to possess.

He turned the package over and over in his hands, too astounded to do anything but gawk at it.

"Oh, do hurry up and open it," Aunt Enid urged. "I'm dying to see the expression on your face!"

With one last glance up at them all, he tore off the wrapper, letting the paper fall to the floor.

It was indeed a broom, but not a Firebolt or a Nimbus 2001, or even a Cleansweep. It was a training broom, the kind little kids played with when they were too young for a real one.

"There you are, my boy!" Uncle Algie cried, clapping his hands in delight. "I daresay you're ready for it. But don't worry, Gussie, our Neville will be safe enough on it. It doesn't fly more than four feet above the ground."

Fan quivering, Aunt Enid chimed in, "You'll be the envy of all the boys at school! And you must be sure to let Harry Potter ride it!"

Neville stared down at the broom in his hands, praying that Gran wouldn't actually insist he take it to school. He didn't know which was worse: the fact that they had given him a toy broom, or the fact that it was probably the only kind of broom he could ride without falling off. Swallowing his disappointment, he dutifully mumbled, "Thank you, Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid."

"Think nothing of it, my dear boy," Algie said, clapping him on the back. "Just remember: no riding it indoors."

Aunt Enid pulled a giant watch out of her pocket and checked the time. "Algie dear, we really must go now if we hope to get home in time for the reception."

"Ah yes. Can't let those old arithmancers get started without us! Gussie dear, do rest easy. No more broken bones!" He kissed her on the cheek, then extended a hand to Neville for a vigorous shake that almost wrenched Neville's arm out of its socket. "Be a good boy, Neville."

Aunt Enid seized him in another bone-crushing squeeze. "Happy birthday, dearest! And do be sure to thank Harry Potter for his hospitality."

A flurry of hand-waving and blown kisses and "bye-byes!" and they were finally gone.

Heaving a deep sigh, Neville collapsed into the chair next to Gran's bed. She handed him the candy box. "Eat one," she commanded.

He fished through the treats and popped one in his mouth while Gran opened the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out her pipe, settling back against her pillows and lighting it. They sat in silence for a while, Neville chewing on the candy and Gran puffing on her pipe. It was as if both of them needed time to recover from the double cyclone that was Algernon and Enid Longbottom.

Gran smacked her lips around the pipestem. "I had a visit from your Doctor Chatterbug yesterday."

"Chatterjee," Neville corrected.

"Peculiar foreign name." Gran bit down hard on her pipe and grimaced. "She kept calling me 'Mrs. Longfeather.' Very odd person, I'm sure. Driftwood came by afterwards. Raised quite a row about her, he did. Said she was a quack and a huckster and an all-around menace to society. Warned me not to listen to anything she said, that she had no idea what she was talking about, and she ought to have her mediwizard license revoked for gross incompetence."

Neville shrank down in his chair, clutching the box of Turkish delight so tightly the sides crumpled. He should never have started this. Uncle Algie was right: he couldn't understand anything. Whenever he asked his Gran questions about his parents, she told him he didn't need to know about it. Now she was mad at him for causing a fuss, and she'd never let him forget it.

Gran's brow furrowed in a deep scowl as she puffed great clouds of blue pipe smoke out of the corner of her mouth. "You know, that's the first time I've seen Driftwood since he took over care of our Frankie and Alice. He's never in when we come by, they say - too busy. No need for us to meet with him, it's all taken care of." She jabbed her pipe in the air as if aiming to poke someone's eye out. "I told him, I said, 'That Doctor Chatterbug answered more of my questions in the twenty minutes she was here than you have in the last five years.'" She fixed a fierce eye on Neville. "Then he had the nerve to tell me I oughtn't to smoke in hospital."

Neville's heart pounded loudly in his ears, and he forced himself to relax his grip on the box before he mashed the candy into a giant lump of rose-flavored paste.

Gran settled back against her pillows, sucking thoughtfully on her pipe. "It was the right thing you did, Neville, calling that funny doctor. I asked around, and it seems other folks here have a high regard for her. I don't know what she'll be able to do for our Frank and Alice, but --." She sighed. "Anyway, I'm glad you got her."

Neville chewed on his lip, thoroughly flummoxed. It was unheard of for Gran to say he'd done something right. He didn't know how to respond. Normally his conversation with her consisted of, "Sorry, Gran; I forgot, Gran; I'll do better next time, Gran." None of those seemed quite appropriate here, and when in doubt, silence always seemed the wisest course.

She turned and fixed him in her gaze. "You're growing up, boy. Took you long enough, but there's nothing wrong with a late bloomer." Her eyes grew soft, the way he'd seen sometimes when she looked at his parents: affectionate, but with a touch of sadness. "I want to keep you safe, the way I couldn't with Frankie and Alice. But you're going to make your own choices, aren't you, boy?"

Neville just stared back at her, unsure whether he was supposed to answer.

With a little shake, Gran resumed her usual imperious demeanor. "Fetch my handbag, there, Neville. It's on the bureau."

Obediently he set aside the candy box and crossed the room to retrieve the red handbag tucked carefully between several vases of flowers and stacks of paperbacks. He brought it back and handed it to her.

Clamping onto her pipe with her teeth, she rummaged around in the bag and pulled out her coin purse. Neville watched as she counted out ten galleons and held them out to him. "Here. Get yourself to Ollivander's and buy a proper wand for your birthday. It's long past time." As he took the coins from her, she muttered, "Training broom, indeed. I ought to beat Algie over the head with it. Of all the worthless rubbish!"

Neville cradled the coins carefully against his chest. He'd never held so much money in his life. "Gran," he said, "aren't you angry with me for breaking Dad's wand?"

She tilted her gaze up at him. "Whatever for? All these years you've had it, and you never broke it out of clumsiness, did you? Though heaven knows you're all butterfingers with my china. No, if you're going to break your wand, it ought to be while fighting bloody Death Eaters. That's a proper way to break your wand. Frankie would be proud of it. Right proud, indeed."

Neville bowed his head, his nose itching with sudden tears. There could be no higher praise than that. 


	22. Chapter 22

Fortunately, Gran didn't make him take the broom with him when he left, saying she'd donate it to the children's ward. The galleons felt heavy in Neville's pocket, and he could hear them clink against one another with each step as he walked back to the tea room.

He found Remus and Harry seated at a table near the window, Harry with "The Hobbit" propped up against the teapot, and Remus buried in the pages of the "Daily Prophet," each so absorbed in their reading that they didn't notice his approach until he pulled up a chair and joined them.

Remus lowered his paper, as Harry raised his head and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Remus appraised him for a moment, then said, "You look as if you had a pleasant visit."

"Yeah," Neville said, thinking of the galleons. Then he remembered how the visit started off. "Well, sort of. My great aunt and uncle were there."

"Were they? It's a pity we missed them."

Neville snorted. "Not really. They're a bit scary. They brought me a --." He stopped himself just in time. "I mean, they came down for my birthday."

Remus beamed at that. "Is today your birthday? Why didn't you tell us?"

"Not today," he corrected. "The 30th. I'll be sixteen."

Harry was staring at him strangely. "So will I, on the 31st."

"Really?" Neville asked in surprise. "I had no idea! That means we're almost exactly the same age. In fact, I'm older than you! I always thought I was the youngest in our year."

"Yeah," answered Harry with a faint grin.

Remus looked back and forth between them. "Well, with two such important birthdays coming up, we'll have to do something special to celebrate."

"Gran gave me some money to buy a new wand."

"In that case," Remus suggested, "it sounds like a trip to Diagon Alley is in order."

The boys eagerly agreed, happy for any excuse not to have to go back to Grimmauld Place. They flooed straight from St. Mungo's to the Leaky Cauldron, where they stepped out onto Diagon Alley, only to find a long line of people winding down the street.

"What do you think is going on?" Harry asked as a handful of people shouldered past them, heading down the line in search of the end.

"I don't know," Remus shrugged. "But it's certainly got people excited."

Neville looked up and down the line, noticing the number of people sporting blue and silver rosettes on their robes. Many of the children, and some of the adults, carried sportsbrooms or Quidditch clubs. "There can't be a match going on, can there?" he speculated.

A witch wearing blue and silver Quidditch robes overheard him and said, "Oh no, not a match. Rufus Kornblow just published his autobiography, Keeping Score. You know, the Keeper for the Tutshill Tornados? He's at Quality Quidditch, signing copies of the book."

"A professional Quidditch player?" Harry's eyes lit up in interest. "I wonder if Ron's here, even though Kornblow doesn't play for the Cannons. Still, it would be nice to meet him. Maybe Ron came?" He stood up on tip-toe, craning his neck to peer down the line in search of his friend.

"Why don't you look for him?" suggested Neville. "I'll go to Ollivander's on my own, then come back here and look for you in line."

Harry clearly wanted to accept the offer, but first he asked, "Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Not at all. I'll see you later." He glanced at Remus, who gave him an encouraging nod, and then headed off down the street. The line went on and on, people eagerly chatting together and swapping Quidditch stories. When he passed Quality Quidditch Supplies, he peered in through the window, but the shop was packed so full he couldn't see anything. Hopefully Harry and Remus wouldn't have gone into the shop by the time he got back. With one last glance through the window, he sighed and headed on down the street.

He shortly arrived at Ollivander's and stared up at the sign. "Since 382 BC." He'd always wondered if Mr. Ollivander were really that old. As many times as he'd passed this store, he'd never gone in. But now he'd be buying his very own wand. The thought brought a smile to his lips. Clutching the coins in his trousers pocket, he entered the shop.

Inside the shop was dark and dusty. Stacks of long, flat boxes teetered over him. He peered into the gloomy corners but could see no one. "H-hello?" he called out.

From deep among the shelves a raspy voice answered, "Don't rush me, don't rush me! I heard you!"

Clasping his hands behind his back, Neville waited. He could hear the shuffling of footsteps, and presently a head of wild, white hair appeared around one of the stacks of boxes. A pair of watery, red-rimmed eyes looked him up and down, not entirely with approval.

"Good lord!" the man barked, and Neville jumped. "I would have expected you to start school long ago."

"I-I beg your pardon?"

"Longbottom, isn't it? Frank and Alice's boy?"

"Yes, sir. How did you know?"

"Don't I remember everyone I ever sold a wand to? Frank Longbottom, willow, unicorn hair, eight inches. Alice Weatherton, oak, dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches." Mr. Ollivander peered up and down the length of him. "Rather tall for a first year, aren't you?"

"I'm not a first year," said Neville. "I'll be sixteen on the 30th."

"Sixteen! Don't tell me you went to Gregorovich for your first wand?"

"No, sir. I've been using my father's wand, but I -."

"What!" Mr. Ollivander's watery eyes boiled. "Of all the rubbish! How many times do I have to tell people not to indulge in such sentimental codswallop? The wand chooses the wizard, not the other way round! You can't just hand a wand down like an outgrown set of robes!" He pulled an enormous magnifying glass out of his apron pocket and, grabbing Neville by the ear, began inspecting him, peering up his nose and plucking hairs from his head to study through his glass.

"No, no, no!" he exclaimed, holding out a pilfered hair for Neville's inspection. "Don't you see here? Willow would be all wrong for you. It's a subtle wood, too diffuse. You want something with more focusing power. Using your father's wand for magic would be like trying to write using the whole bird instead of just one quill!"

Shoving the glass back into his pocket, Mr. Ollivander scampered among the stacks, extending a claw-like finger to scan the labels. "Let's see, let's see." He began pulling out boxes, sometimes from the bottom of the pile. The stacks swayed, and Neville held his breath, but the boxes did not fall.

Mr. Ollivander returned, his arms laden with boxes. He tipped them onto the counter and pawed through them. Finding the one he wanted, he opened the box and handed the wand to Neville. When Neville hesitated, he urged, "Well, go on! Take it!"

Obediently Neville grasped the handle of the wand, but almost immediately Mr. Ollivander snatched it away again. "Not right, not quite right," he muttered. He rapidly opened boxes, handing a succession of wands to Neville only to instantly pronounce them unacceptable. Neville wished he knew what he was supposed to be doing. He didn't want Mr. Ollivander to be angry with him.

They'd gone through dozens of wands, when Neville grasped one that sent a shock through his entire body. He stumbled backward, skin tingling. The wand felt warm and alive in his hand.

"A-ha!" Mr. Ollivander cried, clapping his hands. "Well? Don't just stand there! Give it a wave!"

Breathing rapidly, Neville flicked the wand, and a cascade of flower petals tumbled from the tip. Magic sang through his veins with a harmony he'd never known before. Wand work had always been sluggish for him, like trying to stir a thick potion with a feather. But this felt easy and natural. It felt right.

Mr. Ollivander cackled in delight. "Magnificent! I knew it!" He extended his hand for the wand, and Neville reluctantly let it go. Mr. Ollivander turned the wand over, inspecting it closely. "Cherry wood, from an orchard in Japan that's two thousand years old. We don't see that wood very often any more. The core is unicorn hair. Nine and one-quarter inches." He held the wand up to his eye and sighted along its length. "Make that nine and three-eighths. That's the one, Mr. Longbottom. That's the one." Mr. Ollivander beamed proudly down at him, deeply contented. "Now," he instructed as he repacked the wand in its box. "You've been using the wrong wand for quite some time now. This one will take some getting used to, so I advise you not to try any major magic until you've had the chance to get a feel for it. But do practice. Minor charms, simple transfigurations. Just remember to start small and slowly work your way up. I think you'll find it quite satisfactory."

"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," said Neville, eager to get his hands on his new wand again. He counted out the coins and soon was cradling the box to his chest.

"Give my regards to your grandmother!" Mr. Ollivander called as Neville opened the door. "Pretty young thing, as I recall."

"Yes, sir!"

He stepped out into the street, holding the box with his new wand, and felt his heart soar. All the rotten things he had to deal with - obnoxious relatives, evil dead spirits and sour potions masters - none of them seemed quite so onerous. He could handle them all. Even Bellatrix Lestrange. He, Neville Francis Longbottom, son of Frank and Alice, could handle it. With his new wand, with Ihimself/I, he could handle anything.

He strolled down the street, head up, enjoying himself, the summer sun warm on his face. He took his time, peering into shop windows and watching people go by. Before long he came to Quality Quidditch. He walked the whole length of the line but didn't see Harry and Remus. Returning to the shop, he leaned against the window, peering through the glass into the shop. Sure enough, he spotted the two of them inside among the throng. The people standing at the door glared at him when he tried to enter, so he stepped back and stared up at the poster of Kornblow plastered to the window.

He was thinking about his wand and wondering what spell he ought to try first, and he had just decided on some of the charms they'd been taught in first year, when a voice next to him said, "You a fan, are you?"

He turned to see a young woman standing next to him. The stranger flashed him a grin and nodded up at the poster. "Have you got his book?"

The sight of those white teeth did something funny to his stomach, and he blushed. "Um, no. Have you?"

"Nah. Queue's too long. Besides, I don't really know that much about Quidditch."

"Me, neither." Neville smiled. Not many people would admit to being indifferent to the wizarding world's dominating sport. It was nice to find a kindred spirit.

The young woman mirrored Neville's smile. Young woman - or girl. She was wearing a robe, but it was unfastened, revealing a t-shirt and jeans underneath. Neville guessed she wasn't much older than him.

"I was never really into sports," the girl continued. "I'm more of a reader, myself."

"Me too," Neville agreed, a bit baffled as to why this girl was talking to him.

A breeze ruffled the short curls on the girl's forehead. Her eyelashes seemed impossibly long. She noticed Neville's stare and answered with an embarrassed little grin. "Can't say I'm any more interested in reading about Quidditch than I am in watching it."

"Me neither," answered Neville. He inwardly cringed at his own dullness, wondering why he couldn't come up with anything more intelligent to say.

"So then, what are you doing standing around outside the Quidditch shop?" the girl asked.

"Oh, well," Neville shrugged his shoulder in the direction of the shop. "My friends are in there. I'm just waiting for them."

She peered through the window at the throng inside. "Looks like you might be waiting a while." She turned back to him. "I'm on my lunch break. I work at the apothecary. Name's Lorien, by the way." She held out her hand for a shake.

"I'm Neville." Her hand was warm and soft when he squeezed it. Their eyes met, and they smiled at each other, and Neville felt a lightness fill him, like a levitation charm, like the way the new wand felt in his hand when he grasped it for the first time. Power that was his to wield or not, as he chose.

Her name sounded strangely familiar, and he wondered if he should know her from somewhere. "That's an unusual name," he said.

She ducked her head, blushing a bit. The color looked quite pretty on her cheeks. "It's the name of an elven forest from a Muggle book my dad's a big fan of."

Neville perked up in recognition. "The Lord of the Rings?"

"Yeah." She gave him a shy smile. "You've read it?"

"It's my favorite!"

"Mine, too. And my dad's." She laughed, a bright, sparkling sound that made Neville's insides go all tingly. "I like my name, but my mum drew the line when he wanted to name my brother 'Frodo.'"

They shared a giggle. "That might be a bit much," Neville agreed, "but Lorien is nice."

"Did you know there's a Wizard edition of the books? It compares Middle Earth with the real facts, and says Tolkien may have known more about our world than people previously thought."

"Really?" Neville asked, interested.

"Flourish and Blotts has a copy. I've been saving up the money to buy it." She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets and nodded her head down the street in the direction of the bookshop. "Want to go have a look?"

Neville hesitated, his stomach twisting in confusion. He already liked her way too much, and the thought of going off somewhere alone with her to look at books was more terrifying and exhilarating than he could probably handle. After all, girls very seldom like him as much as he liked them. He glanced back into the shop, as if seeking his salvation. "Well, my friends..."

"Oh. Right." Lorien's face fell a bit.

"Maybe you could join us?"

Lorien dug at a spot on the pavement with the toe of her shoe. "Nah. I don't want to impose."

Neville tried to think of something to encourage her, but Lorien continued, "You come to Diagon Alley often?"

"I'm in London for the summer. We've come by several times."

Lorien tipped her head to the side as she looked up at him. "Sometime if you're free, you could stop by the apothecary where I work. We could go out for a drink or something."

Neville fought valiantly to keep a silly grin from bursting out on his face. "Sure."

"All right, then. Well, see you around, Neville."

"Bye, Lorien."

With a bright smile, Lorien nodded and headed off down the street. Neville watched her go, paying particular attention to the way the sunlight glinted in her black curls, until she at last disappeared among the crowd.

Heaving a sigh that reached all the way up from his toes, he looked back up at Kornblow's picture. His face felt like it would split in two from what was no doubt the silliest grin anyone ever grinned, but he didn't care.

Not much time passed before a voice interrupted a rather pleasant daydream he'd been having about him and Lorien sitting at a table at Fortescue's, sharing an ice cream sundae and reading "Lord of the Rings" together.

"Neville! There you are! Why didn't you come inside?"

He looked up to see Harry beaming wildly, and Remus.

"Kornblow was great!" Harry continued, not waiting for Neville to answer. "He was ever so nice. He talked to me for ages. And look, I got a present for you." He held out a photograph, and Neville saw an image of Rufus Kornblow waving at him from his broom. Scrawled across the picture were the words, IBest wishes on your birthday, Rufus Kornblow./I

"Wow, thanks, Harry!"

"Did you get a wand?" Harry asked.

"Yes." Tucking the picture under his arm, he opened the box to reveal the wand nestled on a strip of velvet.

Harry whistled. "It's lovely."

"Made with unicorn hair," Neville proudly reported.

"Well, go on. Take it out and give it a try," urged Harry.

Remus cleared his throat. "Not out here in the middle of the street. You know how the Ministry feels about underage magic outside of school."

"But Mr. Ollivander said I should practice."

"Certainly. But when we're back home, under more - controlled conditions. Not out here. You could set someone on fire."

Harry looked like he thought that might be fun, but Neville obediently put the lid back on the box.

Remus treated them to lunch, and then to complete their day, they visited Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. The shop was bustling with customers, and it took a while before George finally spotted them.

"Look who's here!" he shouted in greeting. "Some of our very favorite customers!"

"Business sure is booming," Harry answered with a wide grin.

"Yeah. Everyone's in town to see Rufus Kornblow, and Fred's been going out to the queue with free samples to entice the customers." George glanced around at the throngs standing elbow to elbow in his shop. "Seems to be working!"

"I don't suppose you offer a birthday discount, do you?" Harry asked.

"Is it your birthday?"

"On the 31st," said Harry. "And Neville's is on the 30th."

"Both of you?" George raised his eyebrows. "You're, what, sixteen?" The boys nodded, and George gave a wicked grin. "Legal drinking age. Wicked! Sure, twenty percent discount on anything you buy today. And me and Fred will have to plan something special in your honor."

Harry mirrored George's grin, but long experience with the twins made Neville a bit nervous about what they might come up with. Nobody should have to be afraid of their sixteenth birthday. 


	23. Chapter 23

Nervously, Neville licked his palm and ran it over his head, trying to press his hair down. He, Remus and Harry were standing in the lift at St. Mungo's, riding up to the fourth floor.

Remus glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. "Stop fussing with your hair, Neville, you're only making it stand up more." He smiled. "I might almost think you had a crush on Dr. Chatterjee."

"I do not!" Neville protested loudly, before realizing how stupid he sounded.

"I'm only teasing, Neville," said Remus, grinning slightly. "But do stop spitting on your hair."

Forcing himself to lock his arms at his sides, Neville released a sharp breath. "I'm just anxious. This is my parents we're talking about. Has she found out how to help them?"

Remus's expression softened. "Well, I doubt the state of your hair will have any effect on the matter."

With a gentle lurch, the lift stopped and the door slid open. They walked down the hall, and though the corridor was filled with people, Neville couldn't hear anything, just a dull buzzing in his ears. Surely this meeting would be the most important one in his entire life. He kept imaging what Dr. Chatterjee would say. "I've found a cure! They just need this one little potion - so easy, even you could make it!" He saw his parents looking at him, eyes clear and comprehending, smiles of joy on their lips as they held their arms out to embrace him. His father wiping a tear from his eye, saying, "We're so proud of you, son," while his mother ran her fingers through his hair. "We love you so much."

"Neville," someone chided.

He blinked and looked up. It was Remus. Neville realized he'd been slicking his hair down again. Chagrined, he lowered his hand, willing his tears back. This was just a meeting. Nothing had changed yet. He couldn't let his hopes run so wild.

Giving himself a little shake, he looked around. They were at the desk in front of the resident's ward, and Nurse Nettlethorne was scowling down her long nose at him, arms folded tightly across her chest. "They're waiting for you in Conference Room 3." She pointed a bright pink fingernail down the hall.

Neville opened his mouth to thank her, but only a strange choking sound emerged. He felt a firm grip on his shoulder as Remus steered him down the hall. Trotting along next to him, Harry leaned close and said, "It'll be all right, Neville. She'll help them."

He could only nod in response. Why couldn't Harry understand? That was exactly what had him so nervous.

At last they reached the conference room. Remus gave his shoulder another squeeze. "Good luck, Neville."

"We'll wait for you in the tea room," Harry added.

Neville took a deep breath and pushed open the door. There, seated around a large table, were his grandmother, Dr. Chatterjee, Dr. Driftwood, and Professor Snape. He'd only expected Gran and Dr. Chatterjee to be there. He froze in shock, hand on the doorknob, unable to move a muscle.

"More guests!" Dr. Driftwood squawked, glaring at Remus and Harry. "And what are these people supposed to be experts in? Really, Mrs. Longbottom, I'm insulted. No one knows as much in this particular area of medical magic as I do. None of these people is as qualified --."

"Do shut your mouth, Driftwood," Mrs. Longbottom snapped. "They aren't experts; they're friends of the family. That young fellow is none other than Harry Potter, himself."

Dr. Driftwood choked, and his eyes threatened to bulge out far enough to push his glasses right off his nose. Snape gave one of the most formidable scowls Neville had ever seen. Surely it would have given even a dementor a fright. But Dr. Chatterjee beamed happily to see them.

"Mr. Longfeather!" she chirped. "So good to see you again! I was just explaining to Dr. Knockwood that I invited Professor Snape to sit in on the meeting, since he's the one who taught me everything I know about potions, and I know he's your favorite professor, so I was sure you'd want him here as well!"

"Be that as it may," said Dr. Driftwood, "we don't need any more consultants. This rag-tag fellow," he gestured at Remus. "He looks like a gypsy. What's he supposed to be an expert in - palm-reading?"

"No," Remus said quietly, his eyes narrowing. "Defense against the Dark Arts."

Driftwood's eyes bulged once more, and he grew pale. Neville couldn't be sure, but he almost thought he saw Snape give Driftwood a nasty smirk.

Mrs. Longbottom's gaze roamed the room, briefly studying each person present, as if inspecting to see if they'd washed properly before dinner. When she finished her examination, she sat back against the pillows propped up in her wheelchair and pulled her pipe out of her pocket. "If my Neville thinks his friends should be present for this consultation, then I'm not going to argue with him." Her mind spoken, she clamped her teeth around the pipe stem and lit the tobacco with the tip of her wand.

"Mrs. Longbottom," Driftwood said faintly, "how many times must I tell you, there is no smoking in hospital."

"I'll be the judge of that, young man," she snapped. Jabbing her pipe toward the doorway, she ordered, "Neville! Come in! And you, Mr. Potter, and Mr. -- erm." She waved her pipe, trying to recall Lupin's name.

"Oh, yes!" added Dr. Chatterjee. "Mister - ah. That is, Mister--."

Rolling his eyes, Snape drawled, "Lupin."

"Whatever!" Mrs. Longbottom barked. "Come in and sit down. Let's get this meeting underway."

Her command overrode Neville's inability to move, and he entered the room. After a moment's hesitation, Remus and Harry followed him, and all three took seats around the table.

When everyone was settled, Mrs. Longbottom said, "All right then, Dr. Chatterbug. Tell us what you found."

"Certainly, Mrs. Longfeather." She opened an enormous file that sat on the table in front of her. "Now, I know Dr. Knockwood is widely considered an expert, but the mixture of potions he's prescribed for young Orville's parents caused me great concern. Of course I read up on Dr. Knockwood's theories, and I certainly understand how it's supposed to work on parchment, but when I examined Mr. and Mrs. Longfeather myself, their condition did not match Dr. Knockwood's theories."

"Dr. Chatterjee," Driftwood interrupted, "surely you as a researcher understand that variations occur among test subjects."

Dr. Chatterjee looked up at him in shock. "They aren't test subjects, Dr. Knockwood! They're patients!"

"Well, of course that's what I meant --."

"Be that as it may, when I received young Mr. Longfeather's owl, the additional information it contained caused me to reevaluate your entire course of treatment."

"Just a minute," Snape interrupted, his expression suspicious. "What additional information?"

"Didn't you know? Young Longfeather came across records about research on Cruciatus, conducted years ago by Dr. Knockwood's own mentor, Dr. Bushwhack or something."

"Dr. Hackenbush?" Driftwood gasped.

"Yes, that's the one!"

Snape turned his sharp gaze on Neville. "And how exactly did you come across this information?"

But it was Remus who answered. "From the source, as it were. You remember a few months ago when Ron Weasley fell into the Ministry's think tank? It seems he picked up Hackenbush's brain. I used a memory retrieval spell to speak with the doctor's memories."

Snape's expression darkened, but he didn't say anything further.

"This is ridiculous!" Driftwood sputtered. "You expect us to believe such nonsense?"

"You can confirm it for yourself," said Remus. "He remembered you very well."

"I - I -." Driftwood swallowed hard and recovered his indignation. "But those memories would be useless. Dr. Hackenbush's research was discredited when the Ministry arrested him and threw him in Azkaban."

"His ethics were discredited," Dr. Chatterjee said, "but not his discoveries."

"But you - you can't know what that research was. All his notes were stolen."

"By Death Eaters," Remus pointed out.

"Be that as it may," Dr. Chatterjee interrupted, glaring at both Remus and Driftwood, "I studied the information that young Mr. Longfeather sent me. It seems that Dr. Bushwhack--."

"Hackenbush!" shouted Dr. Driftwood.

"Oh, what does it matter what his bloody name is? This is about facts! Dr. Hackenback made important discoveries about how long term exposure to Cruciatus affects the brain, to the extent that some medicinal potions will have unusual effects. And if you'd studied your mentor better, Dr. Woodstock, you would have noticed this in your treatment of the Longbarrows!"

"I - I - this is absurd," he sputtered.

"Look!" Dr. Chatterjee sifted through the files, scattering papers left and right, finally emerging with a sheet in her hand. "Right here! Mr. Longbarrow had a severe psychotic incident on September the fourth, 1995. You administered a tincture of henbane. Standard procedure for normal psychotic patients. But the file clearly states the effects." She pointed to the notation. "'Within minutes, Mr. Longbottom reverted to a catatonic state.'"

"It calmed him down, didn't it?" fumed Driftwood.

"Oh yes, and a coma is excellent for meditation!" she scoffed. "Medicinal henbane tinctures shouldn't send people into a stupor. And here," she threw more papers around, arriving unerringly at the one she wanted. "Every time Mrs. Longbottom is given bloodwort, she regresses to a point where she can't feed herself or even drink a glass of water without assistance. But this potion is only supposed to be a mild sedative. Do you call that normal?"

Snape had sat forward and was quickly scanning the files, frowning. Driftwood stared back and forth between Chatterjee and Snape, but the rest of them were all focused on Driftwood, watching the way the color drained from his face.

His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. Finally he managed to sputter, "But - but, you must understand, the Longbottoms were exposed to Cruciatus far longer than anyone in recorded history. The effects are severe --."

"So they are," Chatterjee agreed, "but your Dr. Bushwhack found that hallucinogens could reorder the damage."

"But that was never - it was a theory only, it never -."

Chatterjee interrupted, "There was a case several years ago of a witch who tried to cast a Confundus charm with a broken wand. It left her in a severe state of dementia. The mediwizards tried everything, but nothing worked. Finally in desperation they gave her belladonna. Within a week her mind was completely restored."

"I remember that case," said Professor Snape. "In fact, as I recall, you were one of the consultants called in to treat the woman, Dr. Driftwood."

"I - yes, I was," he reluctantly admitted. "But that was an entirely different case."

"Really?" said Chatterjee. "Her symptoms were very similar to Mrs. Longfellow's."

"But the cause of those symptoms is completely different."

"Yet you've never even tried a treatment of belladonna, even knowing the remarkable effects it can achieve?" asked Snape.

"There are excellent reasons not to in this case."

Mrs. Longbottom leaned forward, eyes smoldering. "Such as?"

Driftwood adjusted his glasses. "Now, Mrs. Longbottom, I am the expert here. The situation is extremely complicated. If I explained everything to you, you couldn't possibly understand."

"But I could," said Dr. Chatterjee.

Driftwood turned to glare at her, and Mrs. Longbottom said, "Yes, Dr. Chatterbug, I believe you understand things very well. In fact, I would very much like to see how our Frank and Alice would fare under your care."

Driftwood's glare switched to Mrs. Longbottom. "If you do that, you'll be making a very grave mistake. This charlatan will destroy their minds." He whipped around to face Neville, his thin mouth twisted in rage. "You, boy! I thought you loved your parents. If you follow through with this, I can assure you that you will never have a lucid conversation with them. Is that what you want?"

Neville shrank back, eyes wide. He didn't trust Driftwood, but then he didn't know enough about the matter to know how to help his parents. What if Driftwood was right?

Mrs. Longbottom growled, "That sounds an awful lot like a threat to me, Driftwood. I don't take too kindly to people threatening my family. Our business with you is through."

He glowered at each of them in turn, but they met him with steely glares of their own. At last he stood up, smoothing down his mediwizard robes, and strode to the door. There he paused and turned back to them. "It's on your heads." Then he opened the door and left.

There was a long silence in the room. Mrs. Longbottom looked across the table to Dr. Chatterjee. "I don't want to presume, but if you could recommend a doctor, I would be very grateful."

"Mrs. Longfellow, if you wish, I would be happy to take on their care myself."

"That would be a tremendous relief -."

"I don't trust him."

Neville turned to see Remus staring at the door through which Driftwood had just left, his brow furrowed.

"Nor do I," added Snape.

Neville exchanged a glance with Harry, shocked that the two men actually agreed on something.

Mrs. Longbottom said, "I daresay none of us trust him, but with Dr. Chatterjee in charge -."

"No, I mean..." He hesitated, glancing across the table at Snape.

"In your...research," the potions master sneered, as if he'd just tasted something nasty, "did you find anything to indicate that Driftwood might not want the Longbottoms to recover?"

Swallowing hard, Neville clutched at the edge of the table to steady himself.

"Not necessarily," Remus said slowly. "But Driftwood seemed quite eager to dismiss Hackenbush's discoveries."

"And I suspect more than professional pride is at stake," added Snape.

"Professor," said Dr. Chatterjee, shocked, "are you suggesting that Dr. Murkwood might want to harm the Longfellows?"

Neville's heart stopped beating.

"I think it would be wise to take precautions just in case."

Mrs. Longbottom screeched, "That's - that's - how dare he! I'd like to see him try! I won't let him harm one hair on their heads!"

"None of us will," Snape assured her. "Mrs. Longbottom, I suggest you and Dr. Chatterjee make arrangements to transfer your son and his wife to another facility. Lupin and I will make plans for their security until the transfer can take place."

Neville's grandmother said nothing. For a moment, she looked genuinely old and frail. He wasn't used to thinking of his grandmother as fragile, even when she had broken her hip. But now she looked every one of her eighty-three years. Then the familiar steely determination returned to her eyes, and she was once more the formidable woman who could send dementors running with the force of her glare. "Chatterbug!" she barked. "Be so kind as to wheel me to my room. I keep Frank and Alice's papers there."

"Yes, ma'am!" As Dr. Chatterjee rose to aid Mrs. Longbottom, she glanced kindly at Neville. "Don't worry, Mr. Longfeather, I'll take good care of your parents." Turning to Remus, she gave his hand a firm shake. "So good to see you again, Mr. Thingamabob. And you, Mr. Potter." She beamed broadly at him. "I finally realized why you look so familiar. Silly me!"

Harry cringed, ducking his head as if to conceal the tell-tale scar.

"My little niece is such a fan of your films! She must have seen that one about the talking porpoise a dozen times!"

Neville bit back a snicker as Harry frowned in confusion. "What, you mean Flipper?" He shook his head. "No, Dr. Chatterjee, that's Elijah Wood."

"Oh, I know: screen name." She winked at him. "Don't worry, Mr. Potter. Your secret is safe with me."

As Dr. Chatterjee readied the wheelchair, Mrs. Longbottom ordered, "Neville, come with me."

Every instinct instructed him to obey, but for once in his life he defied his grandmother. "No. I'm staying here to protect mum and dad."

Snape scowled. "Mr. Longbottom, attend your grandmother. There's nothing you can do."

But in this matter Neville refused to be cowed, even by Snape. "I'm staying."

"Me, too!" Harry added, standing at his side.

"Mr. Longbottom --."

Remus spoke up. "Don't be so quick to dismiss him. He did take down Macnair at the Ministry."

"The boy stays!" barked Mrs. Longbottom.

Snape appeared to be biting his tongue. As soon as Mrs. Longbottom and Dr. Chatterjee left, he turned on Remus. "Haven't you done enough to endanger the students?"

Remus blinked, taking a step back. "They've proven more than capable of taking care of themselves --."

"I meant Mr. Weasley! Casting a memory retrieval spell on him? What in Merlin's name were you thinking? That's dangerous magic! And I daresay you did it without his parents' knowledge!"

Remus's eyes grew wide. "I'm very experienced with that spell," he faltered.

"It doesn't matter! You had no right. My God, Lupin, nothing has changed. You are still incapable of acting responsibly!"

"It was Neville's idea!" Harry shouted. "Remus only did it because we asked him to!"

Snape wheeled on him. "Lupin is the adult, Mr. Potter. It is his job to act like one and refuse to comply with the misguided requests of the children left in his charge." He glared at Remus. "I should report you to the Headmaster."

"We're not children," fumed Harry. "And if Remus hadn't done it, we wouldn't have known about Hackenbush. He didn't mess up the spell - Ron's fine!"

Neville didn't know what to say. He wanted to defend Remus, but he knew he'd never be able to convince Snape of anything. He glanced up at Remus, wondering why he wasn't defending himself. But Remus's eyes were downcast.

Snape ran a hand through his hair, visibly forcing himself to calm down. At last he was back to his usual steely self. "Very well. Since no harm was done, I won't report you this time. But rest assured, Lupin, if I ever learn of you casting another spell like that on one of my students, I'll report you directly to the Ministry of Magic itself! Is that clear?"

Remus looked away, chewing on his lip. At last his gaze returned to Snape, and he nodded. "Understood."

"Fine." The matter settled, Snape glanced at Neville. "Longbottom, you're best leaving this matter to us."

Clenching his fists at his sides, Neville said, "No. They're my parents."

"He's right," said Remus. Before Snape could protest, he continued, "We ought to set up a twenty-four hour watch. I doubt Driftwood will attempt anything when people are around. Neville and Harry can take a shift during the day, and we and other members of the Order can stand watch at night."

"There are other ways that Driftwood could harm them, short of direct attack. He could dose their food or drink. And there may be medicines that they must continue to take. Longbottom and Potter wouldn't be able to recognize such sabotage."

"That's where Emmeline can help." Remus glanced at the boys. "She's a member of the Order who works here at St. Mungo's. She could come by to test any food or medicine brought to the Longbottoms."

"All right, then," said Snape. "I'll take it up with the Headmaster and see who can help until the Longbottoms can be moved." He glanced at Neville, his lip curled in a sneer. "I understand you have a new wand. I'm sure it will be useful for stabbing people in the eye."

No doubt Snape was mocking him, but since Tonks had been impressed with the effectiveness of Neville's attack against Macnair, he decided to take Snape's comment seriously. "Yes, sir."

"Neville can do more than that," Harry protested.

Snape raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I certainly hope not. This is a hospital. A pitched battle would be unwise, especially with the two of you in action. You did enough damage at the Ministry of Magic. No need to destroy St. Mungo's as well."

Harry fumed, but Neville was beginning to believe Snape was only teasing. Or mostly teasing. Or at least a little bit. "We won't destroy the hospital, sir."

"I'm sure the Board of Directors would be reassured to hear that. Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I'll go talk to Professor Dumbledore."

"We'll stay here until we hear from you," said Remus.

Snape smirked and swept out of the room. When the door closed behind him, Harry fumed, "He has no right to yell at you like that! Who the hell does he think he is?"

"A Hogwarts professor?" Remus supplied. "A member of the Order?"

"So what? He's a rotten teacher, and he hates us!"

"Actually - I think he had a legitimate point," said Remus.

Harry's jaw dropped. "What? You can't possibly agree with him!"

"Well...that spell is dangerous, and I shouldn't have done it without the Weasleys' knowledge."

"But if you hadn't --."

"Look," Neville interrupted, "you can keep arguing all you want, but I don't want to leave my parents alone."

Remus and Harry both looked at him. "You're right," said Remus. "Why don't the two of you go on? I'll look up Mrs. Vance and explain the situation to her, then I'll meet you back at the resident's ward."

Neville nodded and grabbed Harry's sleeve before he could start arguing again, pulling him out of the room. They headed back down the hall.

"That Snape!" Harry fussed, gritting his teeth. "What was he doing here, anyway? Dr. Chatterjee shouldn't have invited him."

"Well...I don't mind. It's someone extra helping my parents."

"He's the one we shouldn't trust! He was a Death Eater! Maybe he's the one who doesn't want your parents to get better!"

Neville stopped in the hall and turned on Harry, hands on his hips. "Professor Snape is the one who suggested Dr. Chatterjee in the first place! We'd still be stuck looking at those files if it weren't for him. I know you don't like him, and he's certainly not my favorite teacher, but he's helping my mum and dad. That's all that matters to me!"

Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses. "You're right. Your parents are what's most important." He shoved his hands into his pockets and glared down at his shoes. "But don't expect me to like him for it."

Neville rolled his eyes. "I'd never expect that. Now can we please get to my parents?" 


	24. Chapter 24

Without another word, they headed down the hall toward the residents' ward. As they passed the nurse's station, Nurse Nettlethorne scowled at them. "You, boy!" she sneered at Neville. "Ungrateful little brat. You're making a great mistake. You had no right to look at those files! Dr. Driftwood is a great man! All these years he's devoted such care to your parents, and this is how you repay him?"

Neville glared at her. "I wish he'd get sacked!" Ignoring Nurse Nettlethorne's shocked expression, he banged the door open, Harry close on his heels.

They walked down the long row of beds. He'd been visiting this ward all his life, a familiar journey from as far back as he could remember. He knew all of the residents, and knew who'd been in those beds before their present occupants. He knew when the walls had been repainted, and when Mrs. Whipple changed her hair dye to a slightly bluer shade. If home is indeed where the heart is, then the fourth floor residents' ward of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was Neville's true home. It was strange to think of his parents leaving. But still worse was the thought that this home had in fact been a prison.

They arrived at his parents' bedside at the end of the row. Neville's father was sitting in a chair, staring blankly at nothing, a long line of drool hanging from his lower lip and staining the front of his pajama shirt. His mother was perched on the edge of her bed, fussing with her hair. She teased out one long strand and plucked it out of her scalp, staring at it for a moment before letting it fall to the floor. Then she started teasing out another strand.

Neville gently caught her hand in his. "Don't do that, Mum." He looked up at Harry. "Would you get the crayons and some paper from the nurse's station? That will distract her from pulling out her hair."

"Sure," said Harry.

As he went to fetch the coloring things, Neville placed his mother's hands in her lap, patting them lightly. "Just sit there a minute, Mum. We'll do some drawing in a moment." Removing a handkerchief from the bedside drawer, he turned to his father and wiped his mouth.

"I got a new wand, Dad," he said. "By the way, Mr. Ollivander remembered you. He said your wand wasn't right for me, and he gave me a new one. I've only tried it a couple of times, but it works really well. Would you like to see it?" He drew the wand out of his sleeve and held it out in front of his father. "Of course I miss your wand, but I suppose this one is better for me."

His mother rose from the bed, eyes fixed on the wand, and reached slowly toward it.

"No, Mum, you can't touch it," Neville said gently. "You can look at it, but you mustn't touch it."

She snatched her hand back and bared her teeth, which he took as a bad sign. He tucked the wand safely out of sight again and helped his mother back to her bed.

Harry returned with a stack of paper and a box of crayons. They dragged a small table next to the bed and spread out the coloring things.

"Sorry," Neville apologized to Harry. "Coloring is kind of a baby thing. But Mum likes it. Watching over her can be kind of boring."

"I don't mind at all," said Harry, pulling out a sheet of paper. "As long as your mum doesn't mind that I'm terrible at drawing."

Neville grinned. "She's not very particular. But watch out for the reds and oranges. She doesn't like them very much."

"Why not?"

"I dunno. She smashes them."

"All right." Harry sought out a gray crayon. "I'll draw Hedwig. She doesn't have any red or orange. Besides, she's just about the only thing I can draw. Why don't you draw Trevor?"

"Toads are hard," Neville said, watching as his mother grabbed a black crayon and started doodling. "But I'll try."

The three of them sat around the small table and drew without speaking. Neville's mother hummed tunelessly to herself as she hunched over her paper. Neville himself was consumed by thoughts about Driftwood and what he'd been doing to Neville's parents, and whether Dr. Chatterjee could help them. Harry said nothing, either, and Neville could only guess at what he might be thinking. Except he would never try to guess. How in the world could he ever know what Harry's thoughts were? So they sat and drew, and no one said anything, and there was something strangely reassuring about it.

The picture of Trevor wasn't turning out too well. He looked like a brown lump of dung with eyes. Neville added some flies for Trevor to eat, but then he realized it could be misconstrued. He sighed and checked on Harry's progress. It was definitely an owl. And it even bore some of Hedwig's distinctive markings. "That looks really good," he said.

Harry looked up, blushing faintly. "Well, Hedwig's the only thing I ever draw, so I guess I've got a lot of practice." He peered at Neville's paper. "Trevor...looks good, too."

"No, he doesn't," Neville said. "He looks like a pile of shit."

Harry ducked his head and snickered. Pulling the sheet closer, he said, "Flies, too."

"Yeah, well, it didn't quite work out the way I wanted."

They giggled together, covering their mouths with their hands. Mrs. Longbtottom ignored them, hunched over her paper. She'd taken a purple crayon and began pounding it on her picture, saying, "Buh-buh-buh-buh."

"Mum, don't do that," Neville chided, gently taking her hand and retrieving the crayon. "You'll break it, and Nurse Nettlethorne won't let you color any more."

Mrs. Longbottom let Neville take the crayon. She leaned over the picture and scratched at it with a cracked fingernail, growling.

"Harry, give her another sheet of paper," Neville instructed as he tried to pull the picture away from his mother. "She gets worked up about her drawings sometimes."

Harry slid another piece of paper in front of Mrs. Longbottom, and she grabbed a fresh crayon and started scribbling over the page.

Neville glanced at the picture he'd retrieved. Amid all the scribbles and smashed crayon parts was a stick figure of a woman with long black hair sticking out all around her head. His mother had drawn this figure before. He didn't known who she was supposed to be, since his mother had mousy brown hair - or used to before it had all turned gray. But this time there was something new in the picture. Slashing through the figure's hand was a brown line.

A wand.

He looked over at the piece of paper his mother was working on. She was covering the entire sheet with color, pressing hard on the crayon and leaving a thick coating of wax. She did that sometimes, too, covering both sides of the page until there wasn't a speck of white showing. Her hand flew back and forth over the paper, furiously coloring away.

"Mum," he said, trying to sound conversational. "What are you drawing?"

She didn't look up, didn't pause in her task. "Hide," she muttered. "Hide hide hide. Must hide the baby. The baby baby. Hide hide."

A cold hand seized Neville's heart, and he looked again at the picture in his hand. That black hair, flying about - he'd seen it before, many times, in his dreams. And once in his life.

Once, that he could remember.

Horrified, he looked up to see Harry staring back at him. Harry's eyes flicked briefly down at the picture and then back up at him. "That's -."

"Don't say her name," Neville hastily whispered.

Harry's cheeks paled, and he nodded. Glancing over at the page Mrs. Longbottom had now covered with color, he repeated, "Hide the baby. She's -."

"Please, Harry," begged Neville. "Just don't say anything." He clutched the paper in his hand, crushing it in his grip. He wanted to tear it up. But isn't that what his mother often did? She would tear up the picture, or slash at it with crayons, or stab holes in it with her fingers. Once she even tried to eat it. Why was he so stupid? Why had he never understood these things before?

At the end of the hall, the door opened and Dr. Driftwood entered. At the sound of his footsteps, Mrs. Longbottom froze, even though her back was to the door. Moving stealthily, she picked up the colored piece of paper and slowly opened the drawer of the bedside table. Sliding the piece of paper into the drawer, she quietly shut it, whispering, "Shh. Be good, baby, be quiet. Shh." By the time Driftwood arrived at her beside, she was sitting silently with her hands clutched in her lap, staring blankly at the wall.

Neville scowled up at Driftwood. "Don't you touch them. We fired you."

Driftwood answered with a snakeish smile. "No matter what you think of me, little boy, I take my responsibility to my patients very seriously. Until the paperwork has been finalized, your parents remain under my care."

Clenching his fists at his sides, Neville slowly rose to his feet. "You're not touching them!"

But the doctor ignored the threat. "Visiting hours will be over soon. You boys ought to get ready to leave."

"We're not going anywhere!"

"Oh? Shall I be forced to call security and have you removed from the premises?"

"Go ahead and try," Neville growled.

"Yeah," said Harry, standing at Neville's side. "I bet the Daily Prophet would love to print that story."

A look of confusion crossed Driftwood's features. "Why should they care about such matters?"

"The Longbottoms are heroes," taunted Harry. "And besides, I have a good friend who's a reporter for the Prophet. Maybe you've heard of her? Rita Skeeter."

Neville frowned at Harry, who discreetly poked him in the back. But Driftwood didn't appear to notice Neville's reaction. His face had paled at the mention of Skeeter's name.

"I'm sure you don't want that kind of publicity," Harry added.

Driftwood pressed his lips together, glaring back and forth between the two of them. "You don't know any reporter at the Prophet."

"Fine," Harry shrugged. "Don't believe me if you don't want. But they're always interested in running stories about the Boy Who Lived. And my friends. Especially my friends whose parents were heroes in the war against Voldemort."

"Don't --!" Driftwood sputtered, waving his hands as if trying to ward off an invisible flock of bats. "Don't say that name!"

"Why not?" Harry retorted. "I've gone up against him five times and lived. You don't scare me."

Driftwood was turning a remarkable shade of magenta. "All right, you may stay past visiting hours. But I will examine my patients." He skirted the edge of the bed and approached Neville's mother.

"Don't you touch her!" Neville warned.

"I only want to see how she's doing." He stood in front of her and took her hand. "How are you today, Mrs. Longbottom?"

Neville and Harry stood by, alert. Neville kept his hand on his wand. He remembered what Professor Snape had said. I'll stab him in the eye. I'll stab him in the eye.

Mrs. Longbottom did not respond to the doctor's inquiry, staring blankly ahead. Noticing the pictures on the table, Driftwood said, "Have you been drawing, my dear?" He snagged the picture of the woman and drew it closer.

"Do you recognize who that is?" Harry taunted.

The doctor looked up at them, his eyes narrowing at Neville. "Do you really want their minds restored, boy? Think about it. Five days of Cruciatus. No one would want to remember that."

The room seemed to grow suddenly cold, and Neville shivered. He glanced at his mother, sitting impassively on the bed. Was the doctor right? Would it be worse if she remembered?

"Ignorance, as they say, is bliss," continued Driftwood. "Did it never occur to you that they are safer this way?"

"What do you mean 'safer'?" Neville whispered.

"I mean that some secrets are meant to remain hidden. I'm not your enemy, boy. Everything I've done has been to protect your parents. By removing them from my care, you could very well end up losing them forever."

The shivering worsened. Neville couldn't tear his eyes away from Driftwood.

"Don't listen to him," Harry whispered in his ear.

But that was the trouble. Neville didn't know who to listen to, he didn't know who to believe.

"Dr. Driftwood," a voice said.

Neville looked up. It was Remus. None of them had heard him approach. He was scrutinizing the doctor with an intense glare.

For a moment it looked as if Driftwood might answer back. But then he seemed to reach an internal decision, and he shrugged. "Very well." He stepped away from Mrs. Longbottom, but as he passed Neville, he whispered, "Think about what I said, boy. You will regret this decision." Then he turned away and headed down the hall.

Harry was squeezing Neville's arm so tightly it hurt. "Don't listen to him," he repeated.

Remus examined Neville, worried. "Are you all right? What did he say?"

"I-I," Neville's teeth were chattering so hard he could barely speak. "I don't know. I don't know what he was saying."

"It was all lies!" Harry fiercely protested. "He said the Longbottoms would get worse, that they'd be lost forever. He said he wasn't their enemy, but he is!"

"He said there were secrets." Neville trailed off, watching his mother. With Driftwood gone, she had quietly opened the drawer of the bedside table and retrieved the piece of paper. Grabbing a crayon she bent over the table and resumed coloring the paper in. He sat down next to her on the bed. "Mummy," he said gently. "Where's the baby?"

She remained bent over the page, but he could hear her mutter, "Hide the baby."

"Where? Where is the baby hidden?" But she didn't answer. He picked up the drawing, the one he was sure was Bellatrix Lestrange. "What are the secrets, Mummy? What secrets are hidden?"

She noticed the drawing and seized it from him. Growling, she tore it up in to tiny pieces and dropped them on the floor, grinding them under her heel. Then she picked up her crayon and turned her paper over, coloring in the other side.

"What are the secrets, Mummy? And do you want to remember them or not?"

"Neville," said Harry, "you shouldn't listen to Driftwood. He was just saying those things to scare you."

Neville looked over to where his father sat in the bedside chair, unmoving throughout everything that had happened. Nothing had changed, except that a fresh line of drool hung from his lip. He pulled the handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wiped his father's mouth. If only he could know what they wanted. If only he could ask them and they could answer. But there were indeed secrets, and they remained permanently locked in his parents' minds.

Running his fingers through his father's thinning hair, Neville said sadly, "Dr. Driftwood doesn't have to tell lies to scare me." 


	25. Chapter 25

By the time the boys received a floo-message from Fred and George, saying they had planned a birthday treat for the next Order meeting, Neville was hardly in the mood to celebrate. He had far too many things to worry about, and he had taken to retreating to the greenhouse. These days his garden was the only thing he had any control over.

Yet herbology wasn't really about control at all. As Neville tended to the beds, tucking the plants under a blanket of mulch, thinning out the herbs and giving them room to grow, setting ladybugs to munch on the aphids, it occurred to him that herbology was all about the basic parental tasks of feeding and bathing, soothing injuries, protecting from harm, even talking and soft crooning. All the other lessons at school somehow involved the use of power to bend events to your will. But no one could make a plant grow. All you could do was give it everything it needed to grow by itself. As a gardener, Neville played more of a supportive role, which had always been his favorite kind anyway. For their part, the plants didn't yell at him. They didn't explode. If he planted milkweed seeds, they wouldn't come up as devil's snare if he messed up. They would simply...not grow.

Gardening was a responsibility, but it was all about using his power gently, something he noticed whenever Harry pulled too hard on a seedling he was transplanting, and the root snapped. Harry would just shrug and stick the injured plant into a pot the way he'd stab a fork into a pudding. Within minutes, the traumatized leaves would start to wilt, the stem to topple over.

And Neville would carefully water the soil, humming softly as he fed the roots, his fingertips lightly caressing the leaves. Sometimes the plant died anyway. But more often than not he was able to save it.

He liked watching his little plants grow tall, their leaves stretched toward the sun like eager hands. As the plants thrived, they gave off fresh green scents. He could sniff his hands and tell from the smell whether his plants were flourishing or not. It wasn't that his greenhouse gave him a sense of accomplishment, because he didn't really do anything, not like catching the snitch and winning a Quidditch match. But it made him feel at peace, in harmony with the quieter rhythms of life, with light and darkness, respiration and the gentle stretch of growth. The slow pace suited him.

He was turning sixteen, the beginning of manhood, his limbs stretching to greater lengths. He wouldn't have thought he was ready, but time moved in its own seasons. He had to trust that he, too, would bloom at the right time.

He gave his plants a final caress, surveying the greenhouse to make sure that all was well, the tools all put away, the beds in good shape, before he headed downstairs for dinner. It was the evening of the appointed birthday celebration, and when he entered the kitchen, he found it already full of Order members. He'd been told Mrs. Weasley had invited a number of them early for dinner, but he hadn't expected so many.

"And there's birthday boy number two!'" a cheery voice sang out. He mustered up a smile for the twins, though their promised birthday surprise had his stomach in knots.

"Boy?" protested Fred. "At sixteen, he's a man!"

"Very true, brother." George leered at Neville. "Old enough for some rumpy-pumpy!"

"George!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, waving a wooden spoon at her son.

"What?" asked George innocently. "With seven children, I'd have thought you knew all about it."

Bill Weasley appeared behind his twin brothers and thwacked them loudly on their heads. "Show some respect for your mother!"

"Yes, William," the twins chorused, but when he turned away, they made faces at his back.

Mrs. Weasley wove her way through the crowd gathered around the table and planted a kiss on Neville's cheek. "Happy birthday, dear," she said, and his heart warmed at her kindness. Her maternal radar picked up on the dirt under his fingernails. "Been working on that greenhouse, have you? Well, come and wash up. Dinner will be ready soon."

"Roast beef," said Harry from where he was seated at the table. "Mrs. Weasley knows it's my favorite. I hope you don't mind."

"Sounds lovely," said Neville as he headed to the sink and lathered up.

Remus fetched a butterbeer for Neville, and as he passed Mrs. Weasley, he kissed her on the cheek. "Anything you cook is always a treat, Molly."

Mrs. Weasley blushed deeply. "Oh, you!"

"Oi!" called out George. "Don't be putting the moves on our mum!"

Fred elbowed him in the ribs and told Neville, "And after dinner there'll be triple-decker chocolate fudge cake."

"We requested it special," added Fred. "Mum's cakes are the best. Better than that slop at Hogwarts, that's for sure."

A steady stream of new arrivals filled up the kitchen: Tonks, Professor McGonagall, and even Professor Dumbledore, as well as other members of the Order. It appeared Mrs. Weasley had invited everyone from the Order to come early for dinner. Still, Neville felt a little embarrassed by all the cheery birthday greetings. His birthdays had always been simple, excruciating family affairs at which dusty old relatives showed up, ate cucumber sandwiches, and compared him unfavorably to his parents.

But this was not nearly so unpleasant -- even when Snape showed up, his eyes widening comically at the sight of the full kitchen, before managing to resume his customary sneer.

"I thought the meeting was at six," he grumbled at Dumbledore.

The headmaster gave a cheery smile. "Yes, but you're always showing up late, and I thought if I told you the meeting was an hour earlier, you might actually be on time for once."

Snape shot him a combustible glare, but before he could snarl, Mrs. Weasley handed him a dinner plate. "You could use a good meal, anyway. You're far too skinny, if you don't mind my saying, Professor. And afterwards we have a birthday cake for Harry and Neville."

"Birthday?" Snape spat, as if the word itself left a foul taste in his mouth. A vein his temple began to throb in an alarming way.

"Yes, won't that be a treat?" continued Mrs. Weasley, and Neville couldn't be sure if she was truly that unaware, or if she planned to avert Snape's wrath by making light of it. She turned to face the dinner party and asked, "Would someone please transfigure a chair for Professor Snape?"

"We'll do it!" the twins sang out, rolling up their sleeves and brandishing their wands in unison.

"You most certainly will not!" called out McGonagall, shrewdly heading off whatever disaster the twins had planned. With a flick of her wand, she transfigured an empty butterbeer bottle into a hard, straight-backed chair.

Still Snape hesitated, glaring at the plate in his hands as if he hoped it would transfigure into a scythe he could lob at someone's head, until Remus at last urged, "Oh, sit down, Severus. Dinner won't kill you - especially since I didn't cook it."

Turning his attention away from the unpleasantness threatening to break out at Snape's end of the table, Neville asked, "Mrs. Weasley, couldn't Ron come?"

"I'm afraid not," she said, a worry line creasing her forehead. "He'd been getting on rather well, but he had another...incident lately. I don't know what set it off. Ginny and Arthur are keeping him company at home."

Remus stared quietly down at his plate, biting his lip. Out of the corner of his eyes, Neville saw both Harry and Snape watching Remus's reaction.

"Ron will be fine, Molly," Dumbledore assured her in that comforting way of his that made you think everything would all work out in the end. "Though we are all sorry to miss him today -," he didn't even pause for Snape's derisive snort, "- he has a very strong constitution. You needn't worry."

"Thank you, Albus," Molly said, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a napkin.

"Oi, Neville," said Tonks, "I hear you have a new wand."

This prompted many interested comments, and Neville was invited to pass his wand around so everyone could inspect it. This proved a welcome diversion, and even Snape was pleasantly occupied with enumerating the many inferior qualities of the wand. Neville didn't mind. At least Snape wasn't listing his own inferior qualities.

Dinner passed quite pleasantly, with plenty of bustle and noise to keep everyone entertained. The twins talked about business with Mundungus Fletcher, Tonks nattered on about Quidditch with Harry, and even Neville found himself engrossed in a discussion with Mrs. Weasley about gardening.

When all of Mrs. Weasley's cooking had been devoured, and there wasn't a crumb left on the table, Mrs. Weasley brought out an enormous cake. With a flick of her wand, the candles sparked into life and began singing, "Happy Birthday" in squeaky tones. Everyone (except Snape, of course) joined in singing, and then Neville and Harry together blew out the candles, only to have them relight again, this time singing the Screaming Goblins', "Doin' It on My Broomstick," while the twins snorted and laughed. McGonagall quickly silenced the candles before Mrs. Weasley could get around the table to her two sons, and they all safely dug into the cake.

Neville had finished his second helping and was licking the icing off his fork, when Dumbledore pushed back from the table, dabbing his mouth with the tip of his beard. "That was delicious, Molly! We may all have trouble staying awake through the meeting with our bellies so pleasantly full, but we must all do our best." He stood, and the adults all got to their feet. "Harry, Neville, happy birthday. And here's wishing you many, many more. Now, if you will excuse us..."

"Thank you, sir," said Neville, echoed by Harry.

The others expressed their birthday greetings as they all filed out of the room, until only Harry, Neville, and the twins were left. Fred and George exchanged a glance, then looked at the birthday boys, their eyes lit with a mischievous gleam.

"Now that we've got rid of them -," said Fred.

"-what do you say we really start the party?" finished George.

Harry answered with a wicked grin. "What did you have in mind?"

Minutes later they were ensconced in the study on the second floor where, Neville noted with some concern, they were safely out of earshot of the meeting downstairs.

As the other settled on the floor, George opened a desk and pulled out some glasses and a bottle of Ogden's firewhiskey.

"Oh!" said Neville. "Um, I don't think we're old enough."

"Yes, it's one of those unjust laws," said George.

"When it comes to the drinking age, we're what you might call 'conscientious objectors'."

"Have been ever since we were sixteen ourselves," continued George, pouring out four glasses.

"It seemed to us," said Fred, passing the glasses around, "that if you're old enough to have sex, you ought to be old enough to get drunk."

Neville hesitantly reached for the glass Fred held out to him. Orange and yellow lights swirled in the glass in a tantalizing pattern. He thought of Gran, who strongly disapproved of drink except for her own habits, which she said were purely medicinal. He'd never quite understood, though, how she expected him to believe that she needed to take so much medicine on the nights when her canasta club met.

Well, if "medicine" was healthy for his grandmother, who was well into her nineties, then surely it would be good for him as well. He took a sip - and almost choked, eyes watering and throat stinging. He gasped and spat. "That's horrid!'

"Of course it is!" chuckled Fred.

"And the hangover's even worse!" snorted George.

Neville held his glass out. "I'll take some more."

The twins obliged, and all four of them kept drinking, even though Harry and Neville sputtered and choked with every sip. After a couple of glasses, the pain eased a bit, and Neville noticed that the world had gone a bit watery, rippling and waving whenever he turned his head or shifted his gaze. The twins, who had always been funny, were now downright hilarious, keeping Neville and Harry in stitches of laughter as they recounted their adventures living in Diagon Alley. Harry regaled them with tales of his horrid relatives, and Neville, not to be outdone, gave a description of what Snape was like on summer holiday, prompting the twins to fall onto the floor, clutching their sides and laughing until there was no breath left in their lungs.

At last George rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up off the floor. Wiping tears from his eyes, he gasped, "Stop that, Nev! You're too funny - Snape scolding you for eating Witchabix. But before I puke from all this laughing, we have another present for you sods."

From where he lay on his back on the floor, Fred waved a lazy hand. "Yeah. Better get to it before we're too drunk."

By now Neville had consumed enough firewhiskey that he wasn't as worried as he should have been. "Another present?" he squealed. "What is it?"

"Our patented daydream charm," George announced. "Thirty minutes of realistic fantasy, guaranteed."

Harry, his glasses adorably askew, asked, "Fantasies about what?"

"Whatever you want. Focus on the dream of your choice when the charm is being said. Or if you can't decide what you want, just make your mind a blank, and the charm will come up with something for you."

Harry screwed up his face in concentration, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, the way Neville had sometimes seen him look when he was working on Astronomy homework. For his part, Neville instantly thought of Lorien, but almost as quickly decided against it. He didn't want to have too vivid a reaction in front of the others. He figured it might be best to let the charm decide for him.

After a moment, George raised his wand. "You ready?" When both of them nodded, he said the incantation.

He's back at home in Chipping. The garden is ablaze with color, more blooms than he's ever seen before. The cool summer breeze wafts the sweet perfume toward him, and he follows the scent.

There beneath the beech tree, his mother sits in Gran's rocking chair, her eyes closed, rocking and humming a tune. He's heard that tune before. The sun shines through the leaves, dappling her face with light and shadow. Her light brown hair falls in rich waves back from her forehead. She is plump and pretty. Healthy. Whole.

"Hi, Mum," he says.

She opens her eyes and smiles at him. "Hello, dear." She holds out her hand and he takes it. There is room for them both in the chair, and he settles next to her, resting his head on her shoulder.

A warm, tenor voice calls out to him, and he looks up to see his father strolling toward them across the grass. It's like looking into a strange mirror. He sees his own long, thin nose, his blue eyes, his dimpled chin.

His father joins them in the chair, and Neville is sandwiched between the two of them. His mother strokes his hair and asks him about school, and as he tells her all about lessons and his dormitory and the people he knows, none of it sounds so bad. They listen and ask him questions as if his school life is the most interesting thing in the world.

"We're so proud of you, son," his father says. "We always knew you would do well. Never a doubt in our minds."

"Our pride and joy," his mother agrees.

He has never known such perfect happiness. Their love warms his skin like sun. "I like herbology best," he says.

"That sounds fascinating," his mother says.

His father adds, "Tell us more about it."

He tells them, and it seems they could listen to him all day. They sit and talk and talk, cozy and warm, the garden's perfume surrounding them.

A screech splits the air, like fingernails on a chalkboard, and Neville looks up to see a dark figure streaming toward them: Bellatrix Lestrange, her wand raised. He leaps to his feet, holding his new wand out. Power surges through him, and he knows that he can cast any spell and it will work perfectly. He is ready, and he will let nothing harm his parents.

A firm hand settles on his shoulder. "We know you can do it," his father says.

He grits his teeth, staring unflinchingly at Bellatrix's mad face. "I'll stop her. She won't get through me."

But his mother shakes her head. "No, no, don't fight her."

A tendril of unease creeps into his gut, and he tries to resist it. "What?"

"Don't you see?" his mother says, her blue eyes piercing his determination. "It would be a mistake."

His father simply gives him an encouraging smile. "Listen to your mother, Neville."

He falters, his unease growing. The dream isn't so pleasant now.. "I-I don't understand."

"Don't fight the curse," his mother continues. "You must be soft as water, hard as the raging flood."

Bellatrix looms in his vision, her hair flying wildly, lips pulled back in an ugly grimace. He knows what she is capable of. He knows what will happen if he doesn't stand up to her. He looks back to his mother, tears flowing down his cheeks. "She'll kill you!"

Soft blue eyes hold him in their gaze. "Don't you trust me?"

He turns, and Bellatrix is before him now. She casts the curse. "Crucio!" An evil red light bursts from the tip of his wand, and there is no more time for thought.

He releases his wand and falls back with the force of the curse, like a leaf caught in a torrent, like a reed bending in the wind. The red light penetrates him, filling the gaps between his cells, racing through his veins, lighting up his nerves, but he opens himself to receive it, drawing it into his body like a warm fire on a winter's night. It fills him, and he explodes into a billion fragment of light dancing through the air, drowning out the sun...

Soft as water, hard as the raging flood. 


	26. Chapter 26

Author's note: I sincerely apologize for the delay, but I am taking a class on Monday and Wednesday nights during the month of May, and it is eating up all my extra time. Some chapters need very little revision, but others need some work, and there is at least one new chapter I still need to write. I estimate eight more chapters, and I would like to get this all posted before I leave for a month of vacation on June 11, but I can't guarantee! I really appreciate your patience.

Neville slowly blinked his eyes. Two large, red blobs appeared in front of him. Or above him. Yes, he seemed to be lying on his back, on some kind of merry-go-round that was spinning. The two blobs revolved in his vision, yet somehow they never seemed to move.

"Oi, Neville. You all right?"

The sounds resolved themselves into words. Someone was speaking to him. This called for a response. He sagely replied, "Glfighiszhk."

The two blobs looked at each other. "Right then. Up you go, mate."

And now he appeared to be levitating. It was very nice, sort of like flying, the way the world around him dipped and spun. Except his limbs felt awfully heavy, and someone was unkindly beating him between the eyes with a Quidditch bat, and come to think of it, flying had always made him nauseous.

At that moment, his stomach turned itself inside out. Someone was making really disgusting retching noises, and he realized it must be him. But he wasn't too embarrassed about it, because after he'd finished sicking up, he really felt much better. Sort of.

Someone muttered a cleaning charm, and the vomit conveniently vanished. He lazily looked up and found Fred and George propping him up and looking worried. "Oh, hello," he said.

The twins looked at each other, then back at him. "Better now?"

He pondered this for quite some time, and said, "Yes. Or maybe not. A little?" His voice kept squeaking high and then dipping low. He found it very amusing and thought he might like to continue talking just to hear how funny it sounded.

Fred, or perhaps it was George said, "It would appear that firewhiskey and our daydream charm do not mix."

George, or it might have been Fred, said, "I don't think so. Harry seems to be fine."

All three of them looked over at Harry, who sat slumped against a chair leg, his eyes staring glassily at nothing, a slight grin on his face.

"You on the other hand," said Fred-or-George, "went a bit wonky, mumbling and thrashing a bit."

"And then you fell over as if you'd fainted," added George-or-Fred, "and we thought we ought to end the charm."

"Hmmm," said Neville.

One of them peered at him. "What did you dream about, anyway?"

Images flashed through his mind. His parents. A tree. Bellatrix. And lots and lots of water. "Not sure exactly," he said.

The other of them said, "Perhaps we ought to get you to bed. I think you've had enough for one night."

It seemed to Neville that he had had enough for several nights. And a respectable number of mornings and evenings as well.

"Think you can stand?" a third one asked. Or perhaps it was the first one again.

Neville pondered the issue, but since he couldn't seem to locate his legs, it seemed unlikely.

"All right, then. Up you go."

Neville levitated again, rising from the floor and lurching across the room. As he bobbled down the hall, bits and pieces of him seemed to be falling off here and there, but then other bits came back and multiplied. Somehow he had ended up with far too many feet, and yet he could only locate half of an arm. And his neck appeared to have sunk into his chest, because his shoulders touched his ears.

By the time he arrived at his bed, however, all the extra bits detached themselves, forming into Fred and George, and he was happily left with all his own parts.

"Well, here you are, mate. Sleep well."

"And remember, there's no need to tell anyone about this little adventure. Especially our mum."

Neville wanted to say something in response, but by the time his face hit the pillow, he'd forgotten what it was. Which was just as well, because he'd fallen asleep.

The dream came back, only now it was all jumbled. Sometimes it was Lorien he sat with in the chair. Sometimes it was Snape threatening him with the Cruciatus. Then Snape became Gran, and Neville would wind up in that rocking chair again, warmly cuddling up to her until she turned into Harry, who was throwing Scrabble chips and scolding, "Tincture is spelled with a 't' not an 's'!" It was all very confusing, and more than a little disturbing, and he really wished he would just dream about his parents again. The tiny corner of his mind that was self-aware sought to catch the fragments of his dream and force them to go in the direction he wanted. At last the confusing jumble faded away, and a new dream began to take shape.

It was dark. He couldn't see a thing. Somewhere he heard voices, but he couldn't understand them. All he knew was that he was frightened. Yet as scary as the dark was, if the light came on he knew it would be worse. He must stay still. He must be quiet.

But he could hear those voices. If only he could understand them! If only he knew what was happening. The voices grew louder, angry. There was shouting. Then the shouting turned to screams.

"No!" he shrieked, even though he was supposed to stay quiet. But no sound came out of his mouth. He screamed as loud as he could, but there was only silence. He thrashed his arms and legs about, trying to break free of the darkness, but he could not move.

The screaming abruptly stopped. The voices fell silent, and he was left to cry soundlessly in the dark that never ended.

Someone was shaking him hard, calling his name. He blinked awake, looking up to see Remus hovering over him. Neville's arms and legs trembled as if he'd been running for miles and miles. He gulped for air, his head pounding.

"Are you all right?" Remus asked. His voice banged against Neville's skull and made his headache worse.

"Yeah," Neville said, but his teeth were chattering so hard in his head, he could barely get the words out, and his stomach threatened to empty itself again. "It was just a plain old nightmare. I couldn't move or talk."

Remus nodded. "I've had that one, too. I hate it."

"I've had it loads of times." But something nagged at the back of his mind, and the way Remus was staring at him, like a specimen in one of his Defense classes, didn't help.

"Those dreams are about feeling helpless," Remus observed.

"It wasn't so bad, really," he said, wishing Remus would stop going on about it so he could go back to sleep. He hoped Remus couldn't smell the whiskey on his breath. "I didn't dream about...about Her." Yet even as he said it, he wondered. Had one of the voices in his dream sounded like her? Still, it could just be a coincidence. He'd spoken with her portrait too many times. Maybe he just remembered the sound of her voice.

Maybe he just remembered...

Remus was still studying him. "You're sure you're all right?" he asked.

No! he wanted to scream, the way he'd wanted to in the dream. But instead what came out was: "I'm fine."

Remus nodded. "All right. But if you need anything, just ask."

"I will."

Neville lay back against the pillow, and Remus finally left, shutting the door quietly behind him. The room fell once more into darkness, just like his dream.

Sleep was a very long time in coming.

The next time Neville woke, it was morning, but his condition was little improved from the previous night. It felt like a hippogriff was stampeding inside his skull, and a puffskein had taken up residence in his mouth.

Gingerly he rolled off the bed, his bare feet plopping against the worn carpet. The room swam in front of him, his stomach lurching in response, and he clung to the edge of the mattress, willing everything to straighten out again. A soft croak called his attention to Trevor, staring up at him from the center of the carpet. Perhaps it was his imagination, but Neville thought he detected concern in Trevor's bulging eyes. Though it was hard to tell: toad expressions were difficult to read.

He cautiously picked his way through his morning routine, spending three times longer than usual in brushing his teeth, and it took several attempts before he got his trousers on correctly. He gave up the socks and shoes as hopeless and crept barefoot down the stairs, clinging to the railing with both hands and trying not to jolt himself on each step.

He found Remus in the kitchen, a mug of coffee at his elbow and the morning's Prophet spread out on the table. In front of an empty chair sat a half-drunk glass of pumpkin juice and a bowl of soggy Witchabix. He glanced around the kitchen. "Um, where's Harry?"

Remus nodded toward the door. "Throwing up in the loo again. I think this is his fourth time this morning."

"Oh." Neville gulped hard, his stomach twinging in sympathy. He made his way hand over hand along the table's edge and sat down.

Remus poured him a glass of pumpkin juice and pushed a plate of cold toast in front of him. "I guess the twins were a bit rough on you boys?"

Nibbling on a corner of the toast, Neville mumbled, "I s'pose so."

"Poor lads," said Remus. Then he frowned. "There weren't any drugs involved, I hope?"

"No."

Remus looked relieved. "Well, that's all right then," and he returned to his paper.

Neville might have expected a more parental or teacherly reaction from Remus. Certainly Snape, if he'd been here this morning, would have yelled at them both and assigned them a nasty detention, summer holiday or no. And if the pounding in his head was any indication, he deserved it.

The two of them sat in silence, Remus reading his newspaper, Neville eating his toast. He wasn't really hungry, but the toast settled his stomach a bit, and after a while he risked a sip of pumpkin juice.

The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps shuffling in the hallway. Remus and Neville both looked up, and eventually Harry appeared in the door, clutching his stomach as he staggered to the table. His hair stuck out even more messily than usual, his glasses perched askew on his nose, and he looked even more miserable than Neville felt.

"I wish I was dead," Harry moaned.

Remus suppressed a smirk, but said mildly, "Some warm tea might do you good. At least then you'd have something in your stomach to throw up."

Groaning, Harry lowered his head to the table.

Curious, Neville asked, "What happened last night when you came out of the daydream charm?"

"I don't really remember."

"Do you remember what you daydreamed about?" When Harry nodded, Neville prompted, "What"  
Harry turned bright red, angling his head to look across the table at Neville. "What did you dream about?"

"My parents."

Harry frowned, as if the answer disappointed him. "Is that all you ever dream about?"

Neville only shrugged. "I had this weird nightmare last night. Did I wake you up?"

"Why would it?" Harry asked.

"It woke up Remus."

Harry looked over at Remus, who nodded. "I guess I was...really sound asleep."

Neville studied his glass of pumpkin juice. "It was a weird dream. I wonder if...?"

No one asked him what he wondered. Harry stirred his Witchabix, and Remus watched the two of them out of the corner of his eyes while pretending to read the paper. Neville reached for another slice of toast and chewed slowly on it as he pondered his dream. Why had the charm acted on him as it had? There was something very strange about the way his daydream had gone, as if something had taken it over. Even his nightmare felt as if it had been planted in his mind, as if it were someone else's dream. Yet he knew the dream was about him, that he was the one who'd been left in the dark, unable to speak. It didn't feel like a dream, it felt like...

"That nightmare," he said aloud. "What if it wasn't a dream? I mean, what if it was some kind of memory."

Harry squinted at him, and Remus just raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

Staring down at the nibbled edge of his toast, he said, "I've always had nightmares about not being able to move or talk, but last night, it was different. More real somehow. I think it might be a memory of -."

When he didn't continue, Harry prompted, "Of what?"

He bit his lip in frustration. "I'm not sure. But I think it's somehow about my parents, about that night...," he shuddered. "I know it is, but I don't know what it is."

"How," Harry asked slowly, "can you know something that you don't know?"

But Remus was watching him closely, a light of comprehension in his eyes. "You think it's about the night your parents were abducted?"

Neville nodded. "You know that memory charm you did on Ron...?"

"No," Remus said flatly.

Neville blinked. "But maybe if you -."

"No," repeated Remus. "Professor Snape was right. I shouldn't have done it."

"But -."

"Neville, how old where you when it happened? You were an infant."

"I was two," he corrected.

"That's so young."

"But two-year-olds can talk, can't they? Those memories must be in my mind."

Remus shook his head. "I won't do it."

"Do what?" a confused Harry interrupted.

"You have to!" Neville shouted, slamming his fists on the table. Harry winced in pain, and Remus's eyes widened, mirroring Neville's own surprise at the outburst. But he was sick and tired of other people deciding what was best for him. "No one knows what happened that night. But I was there! Maybe I didn't see much of anything, maybe what I saw won't help. But my parents have been locked in their own minds for fourteen years! If I can find out anything to help, I have to try." His hands shook hard, and he balled them into fists to still their trembling. "I will do anything to help my parents. Anything."

"Neville, I understand your determination, but -."

"If you won't help me, Harry will," he continued. "He's smart and powerful. He'll figure out the charm."

"Yeah, I will!" Harry shouted. "Um, what charm?"

"For God's sake, Neville!" Remus burst out. He actually looked frightened. "Don't be so foolish. If he does the spell wrong he could destroy your mind."

Neville gazed steadily at him. "But that won't happen if you do it."

With a frustrated growl, Remus buried his face in his hands, rubbing fiercely at his eyes. At last he looked up, his expression so unhappy Neville almost wanted to forget the whole thing. But not quite.

"All right, I'll do it," Remus agreed. "But only if your grandmother gives permission. If she says no, that will be the end of it. I mean it, Neville. This is not something you should go messing around with."

Neville considered. Gran probably wouldn't be too thrilled about it, but she'd been backing him up quite a lot lately. He was fairly confident that he could get her to agree. "All right," he said.

Remus only shook his head. "Severus is going to kill me."

"Don't worry," Neville assured him. "Nobody can stand up to my Gran when she makes up her mind."

"I certainly hope so," muttered Remus.

"Guys," Harry interrupted, "I think I'm gonna be sick again." And clutching his stomach, he dashed from the room. 


	27. Chapter 27

Neville's Gran did indeed give permission for Remus to do the spell, though she was not too happy about it. Neville suspected that she was hoping the spell wouldn't work so that she wouldn't have to know what her son and daughter-in-law had gone through that night.

At first, Mrs. Longbottom insisted that Professor Snape be present as well. That was Neville's fault. He had never told her anything about Snape, and as a result, she knew nothing whatsoever of the years of terror he'd experienced in the Potions Master's lessons. In fact, she had been favorably impressed by him at their meeting, and had believed Dr. Chatterjee when she'd said Snape was Neville's favorite teacher. But Neville wasn't the only one who was reluctant to have Snape be present for the spell. Remus had turned rather green when Mrs. Longbottom made the suggestion. Between the two of them, they managed to convince her that Snape would not be available.

So Neville and Remus met in the library at Grimmauld Place and prepared for the spell. "All right," Remus said as they settled into opposing chairs. "I've never tried to recover such an old memory before, nor for that matter from someone who was so young at the time. I'm not exactly sure how this is going to work."

Neville only nodded, too nervous to speak.

"So, watch my wand and concentrate on my voice." Remus moved his wand in a complicated pattern, his voice low. Neville didn't know what Remus was saying, and within moments, the wand had completely absorbed his attention. The world around him seemed to fade. It was still there, but he saw it as if through a veil of falling water. He couldn't move or speak, but it felt pleasant, like drowsing in the warm summer sun.

"Now," a voice speaks in his ear, "remember your parents." The voice is gentle but firm, and he feels compelled to obey.

He is walking down a long row of beds. Two people are on either side of him, holding his hands. He sees gray tweed trousers on his left and an ankle-length wool skirt on his right. Beneath the skirt, two shoes flash as they walk, purple and soft, with shining buckles. They are his favorites, and he loves to stick his feet in those shoes and totter around, the buckles sparkling in the light, but Gran always scolds him for playing in her shoes.

The purple shoes stop. They have reached their destination. He looks up, over the edge of the bed. She is sitting up against the pillows, her long hair so soft and pretty. "Look, Mummy," he says, digging his hand into his pocket and pulling out a piece of paper that has been folded many times. "I drew you a picture."

"Farther back than that," the voice said.

The bed grows taller, and he can no longer see over the edge of it. He tries to climb up, but hands hold him back. "No, Neville," his grandfather warns, "don't disturb your father."

Granddad! Neville calls out. I miss you!

Memories flow over him, the musty scent of aftershave, the rasp of his grandfather's whiskers scratching his cheek, the hair that sticks out of his ears.

"We're trying to remember your parents, not your grandfather," the voice gently reminded him. "Go farther back. Remember your parents' house."

The living room of the house, a fire dancing in the grate. There is his little red chair, drawn up close to the fire. He holds a picture book in his pudgy hands. A bunny is hopping across the page.

"Aren't you finished with that book, Neville? It's time for bed."

"The bunny hasn't found his way home yet, Gran," he whines.

The voice broke in again. "Your parents, not your grandparents."

His dad lying still on the bed.

His mum rocking and staring off into space.

Telling his father about the puppy he'd played with at his cousin's house. Giving his mother a ribbon for her hair.

"This isn't working," the voice sighed. "Let's try a specific memory. How about...the first time you learned to walk?"

Walking across the fields next to granddad, walking down the aisle of beds, walking along the pier in Blackpool.

"No, your first step. The first time you walked."

But he's always been walking. There has never been a time when he hasn't walked.

"All right then. Remember when you cut your first tooth?"

But he has always had teeth. He remembers wiggling a loose tooth with his tongue, Gran sticking a pair of pliers in his mouth and pulling while he screeches.

"Still not working," said the voice.

He floats through endless memories: eating icing off his cake at his fifth birthday, a giant three-headed dog, Hester taking him behind the garden shed, saying, "This is what grown-ups do."

"Enough of that," said the voice. "I've got it. Remember the first time you saw Bellatrix Lestrange."

Deep amid the rows of endless shelves, huddling with the others while they stare at the hooded figures surrounding them.

"You hear him?" she shrieks. "You hear him? Giving instructions to the other children as though he thinks of fighting us!"

Draco Malfoy's father answering, "Oh, you don't know Potter as I do, Bellatrix."

Her! His blood runs cold.

"Hand over the prophecy and no one need get hurt," says Malfoy coolly.

The woman steps forward, away from her fellows, and pulls off her hood. Her face is gaunt and skull-like, but it is alive with a feverish, fanatical glow. Neville can't tear his eyes away from her.

"You need more persuasion?" she says to Harry. "Let him watch while we torture the little girl." They crowd closer around Ginny, and her eyes gleam as she raises her wand. "I'll do it."

"No," the voice interrupted. "The first time you saw her."

The woman steps forward, away from her fellows, and pulls off her hood. Her face is gaunt and skull-like, but it is alive with a feverish, fanatical glow. Neville can't tear his eyes away from her.

"Why isn't this working?" the voice said, sounding irritated. "Okay, let's make this simple. What is the very first thing you remember, ever?"

A big bed, with a pale blue blanket. People standing around him. Where is he? Where's mummy and daddy? Screaming, screaming, as the strange people hold him down, tell him, hush, it's all right, but where are mummy and daddy? Where are they?

"Enough!" the voice cried out, and the memory fades away, replaced by more mundane ones.

"You can't remember anything before that. It's as if there's a block of some kind. If you were obliviated, we'll never recover those memories."

A long silence as he drifts in reminiscences: a bushy-haired girl helping him look for Trevor, playing with Granddad's cane and knocking over Gran's favorite vase, sledding in the snow.

"You said you thought the dream was a memory," the voice interrupted. "Remember that dream, when it first happened."

It is dark. He can't see a thing. Somewhere he hears voices, but he can't understand them.

"Listen carefully," the voice instructed. "You were two years old, you ought to be able to understand."

He can't understand them. All he knows is that he is frightened. Yet as scary as the dark is, if the light comes on he knows it will be worse.

"Why? Why would it be worse?"

He must stay still. He must be quiet.

"Where are you, Neville? Is something covering your eyes?"

I don't know, he tries to say, but no sound comes out of his mouth.

"You were two years old, you could talk. Tell me your name."

His lips move, but again he makes no sound.

"Was it a silencing spell? Think - did someone say silencio?"

The word echoes in his head, but in a different voice. He nods.

"Who said it, Neville? Who cast the spell?"

He tries to say I don't know, but he can make no sound.

"It's just a memory. You can speak. Was it Bellatrix Lestrange?"

He shakes his head.

"Rodolphus Lestrange?"

Again he shakes his head.

A pause. "Was it a man or a woman?"

A woman. He can speak again.

"Remember, Neville," the voice commanded. "Was it your mother?"

A gentle voice speaks. "Hush darling, you must be perfectly quiet. Silencio."

Mummy!

"All right, Neville, we're there. Now, what happened next?"

She picks him up and holds him so tightly it hurts, but he doesn't squirm. More banging on the front door. She whirls around, and he clings to her, face buried in her shoulder. She smells warm, of cinnamon and flour from the biscuits they'd been baking. Strands of her hair brush against his neck.

A swooping sensation as she kneels on the floor. "You have to be good for mummy and don't move." She tries to push him away from her, but he won't let go, his fingers curled tightly into her blouse. "Do as I say, Neville darling. Go in the cupboard." He struggles against her, but he can't cry out loud. At last she breaks his grip and pushes him into the cupboard, on top of a lumpy sack of potatoes. He tries to reach for her again, but she points her wand at him and says, "Impedimenta!"

From the front room there is a loud crack. She looks fearfully at the closed kitchen door. "I'm coming, Frank," she whispers. Then she looks back at him. "It will be all right, darling. I'll be right back. But you have to keep something for me." She holds the tip of her wand to her temple and draws out a long strand, thick and silvery like Gran's tobacco smoke. Then she places the wand tip to his forehead.

Thoughts fill his mind, tumbling over one another, but he can make no sense of them. --the Cruciatus is one of the Unforgivable - first invented in 1203 by - no known resistance to - the pioneering research of Dr. Hugo - studies have indicated that brain waves - there must be a way - top secret and top priority - Alice, I think we've got a breakthrough - this will aid our - we've almost broken it --

The alien thoughts still careening around in his skull, his mother looks at him, warmth in her hazel eyes. "I love you, darling." Then she shuts the cupboard door, plunging him into darkness.

The darkness of his dream.

The voice called him back, commanding him to return, and the memories began to fade. He resisted, weeping, wanting to see his mother's clear eyes, to hear her voice. He wanted to see his father, to know what had happened to him, but the harder he struggled to hold on to the memories, the quicker they slid away from him.

He returned to the present, sobbing, "No!" He struck out at Remus, "Take me back! I want to see them!"

Remus caught his wrists in a firm grip. "No, that's enough for now."

"What the hell do you know?" he sobbed. "You have no right! Bring them back!"

Remus's soft brown eyes gazed at him in compassion. "Another time, but it would be too much right now."

Still Neville struggled in Remus's grasp, but Remus refused to let go, and at last Neville sagged, weeping.

How good it had felt to be held in his mother's arms, to feel her heart beating against his! Even though they had both been frightened, as long as she'd held him it had seemed impossible that any harm could ever come to him. Yet she had pushed him away. She herself had pried his fingers from her blouse, forced him into that cupboard. She'd left him alone in the dark and gone away, left him forever. Even after all these years he was still waiting for her to return and release him from the spells that bound him.

But it was Remus who held him now, Remus's arms wrapped around him. He wanted to push Remus away, but all the fight had left him, and he could do nothing but cling, lest he vanish along with the memories.

"Why did she leave me?" he wept.

Remus rubbed his back, as if soothing a colicky child, and Neville hated it because the gesture seemed so tantalizingly familiar. "She was protecting you."

"If she wanted to protect me, she wouldn't have left me!"

"If she'd kept you, the Death Eaters would have killed you. Your mother saved your life, Neville."

He sobbed against Remus's shoulder, remembering what it had been like to press his face into his mother's neck, the way her skin had smelled. There weren't tears enough in the world to cry out such a loss, and eventually he ran dry, his sobs reduced to sniffles. But his heart would never stop bleeding.

"She used you as a pensieve," Remus said, and Neville stiffened, as if he had just insulted her. Remus continued, "She stored her thoughts in your mind."

Slowly Neville drew away from Remus, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He forced himself to think rationally. After all, he'd done this because he wanted to help his parents, not because he wanted to be a baby held in his mother's arms again. He sniffled. "It was all about the Cruciatus curse."

"Yes. It sounded like they were doing research." Remus looked at him, eyes wide. "It sounded as if they were trying to find a way to counter it."

"What does that mean?" He thought about what Driftwood had said, that some secrets were meant to remain hidden. Did he know about this?

"I don't know what it means," said Remus. "And I don't know if this will help your parents now. But it might explain what the Death Eaters were after."

"And if they regain their memories, the Death Eaters might come after them again! Maybe Driftwood was right. Maybe he really had been helping them!"

Remus frowned. "I'm not sure about that. At any rate, we'll bring it up at tonight's Order meeting. It definitely needs to be discussed."

"I don't think Professor Snape will be too pleased to hear you did this spell on me."

"Perhaps not, but this time I did it properly, with your grandmother's permission. And as you yourself said, no one can stand up to her."

Remus smiled, and Neville grinned back. Then he grew serious once more. "Remus, thank you for doing it."

Remus placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're welcome, Neville."

It wasn't his mother's touch, but it was nice to know he had such a friend.

That evening, Neville and Harry waited in the library while the members of the Order met in the parlor. Neville huddled in one of the armchairs, watching as Harry prowled back and forth along the bookshelves like a caged tiger.

"I bet Snape freaks out," Harry said, running his fingers over the spines of the books as he paced.

"I hope not," muttered Neville.

"He better not get Remus in trouble."

"Harry, would you please stop? You're making me nervous."

Harry glanced guiltily at him. "Sorry. I just wish they'd let me go into the meeting, too."

"So do I. But you know what Remus said."

"Yeah." With a frustrated sigh, Harry plopped down into the other. "But it's not fair. I've been helping you all summer, and you're only going to tell me what happens anyway. They should let me come to the meeting, too."

Neville said nothing, burying his head in the files open on his lap. He just wished Harry would shut up about it.

There was a knock on the door, and Remus stuck his head into the room. "Neville, we're ready for you now."

He shot a quick glance at Harry and got to his feet, clutching the files tightly in his sweaty hand. Remus laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder, then led the way down the hall to the parlor. He opened the door, gesturing Neville into the room.

The room was jammed full of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, some of whom Neville knew, but many others whom he did not. Tonks was there, her jet black hair sticking straight up. She gave him an encouraging wink. He saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as well, along with Bill. Professor Snape sat scowling in a corner, and Professor McGonagall was next to Dumbledore, her lips pressed in a thin line.

Remus led him to a seat near the front of the room, and Neville sank into the chair before his knees could give way, his eyes locked on Dumbledore so he could avoid looking at all the people in the room.

The Headmaster smiled warmly at him, tilting his chin down to peer over the top of his glasses. "Mr. Longbottom, I understand you have some news about your parents."

He'd practiced this speech with Remus and Harry all afternoon, and with Remus's gentle prompting, he outlined what they'd discovered over the summer, the clues pointing to Driftwood, Dr. Chatterjee's involvement, and finishing up with what he and Remus had discovered hidden in his own mind.

"And everything she put in my mind was about the Cruciatus curse," he finished.

Dumbledore combed his fingers through his long beard, looking grave. "I'm not sure what that means."

"I've an idea," Moody spoke up, turning both his eyeballs on Neville. "It was all very top secret; almost no one knows. But your parents were investigating ways to resist the Cruciatus curse. The Imperius can be thrown off, but there has never been any known way to block the other Unforgivables. That's what your parents were working on. I've always thought it was no mistake that the Death Eaters chose that curse to torture them with. But the few notes they left behind were undecipherable. With your parents driven mad, we would have had to go back to square one on that research." He frowned. "But the Ministry decided to drop it. With You-Know-Who gone, they figured the need for a block against Cruciatus was gone."

Shacklebolt sat forward eagerly. "But if Mrs. Longbottom put that information in Neville, then perhaps we can recover it! Just imagine - if we found a way to block the Cruciatus!"

The room exploded into discussion as members argued whether it was possible to use a two-year-old's brain as a pensieve, whether his memories were recoverable, and the ethics of using Neville that way in the first place.

Neville listened with increasing agitation to the discussion. They were all talking about it as if his parents weren't real, as if they weren't languishing in madness, and the recovery of their memories might make them a target for the Death Eaters. He looked right at Dumbledore, who was sitting in silence listening to the debates, and said, "But what about my parents?"

Dumbledore raised his hand, and eventually everyone else fell silent. "You are right, Mr. Longbottom. No matter what else is at stake, the safety of your parents is paramount. It sounds as if they are in good hands with Dr. Chatterjee. However, we should bring this matter before the Ministry. It is rightfully their responsibility to provide protection for two people who sacrificed so much in the service of us all. But until then, I suggest we establish around-the-clock watches of Order members."

A clamor arose again as dozens of hands were raised to volunteer for the duty. Neville swallowed hard around the lump in his throat at the display.

Dumbledore raised his hand again, and when everyone had quieted down he said, "Remus, perhaps you would be willing to coordinate a schedule. I will take up the matter with the Ministry. But there is another issue, here. Mr. Longbottom, if we can recover that information, it would be extremely useful. However, the choice is yours. You do not have to agree."

Neville swallowed hard and sat straight up in his chair. "Of course I'll do it."

Dumbledore smiled. "Your parents would be very proud of you. Now, perhaps it would be best if you leave us. We have much that we need to discuss tonight, and I'm sure Harry is eager to hear from you what happened."

Neville looked to Remus, who nodded. Returning his gaze to Dumbledore, he said, "Thank you, sir," and left the room as hastily as he could.

He returned to the library, where Harry was still pacing along the shelves. As soon as he entered, Harry ran up to him, his eyes wide.

"So? What did they say?"

"They're going to set up another watch to look after my parents. And Dumbledore wants to try to recover the memories. He's also going to tell the Ministry."

"That's great!" Harry beamed. "I told you Dumbledore would do something about it. Your parents will be better in no time!"

"Yeah," Neville muttered.

Harry frowned at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just..." He shrugged miserably. "I should have figured this out a long time ago, shouldn't I?"

"Neville --," Harry began, but Neville cut him off. Harry would say kind, encouraging things, but they were still lies. Neville knew the truth.

"If I weren't so slow, I would have figured it out," he said. "And even now, I still wouldn't have if you hadn't figured out there was a message on the candy wrappers. Everyone keeps saying how proud my parents would be, but why would they be proud? They've been counting on me all these years, and I was too stupid to know. My mum gave me that knowledge, and I didn't do anything with it."

"You were two years old," Harry pointed out. "She didn't expect you to do anything. She just gave it to you for safekeeping. And you kept it safe, didn't you?"

"But I didn't do anything!" Neville cried. "All these years - wasted! If I'd been smarter, if I'd figured things out sooner - how will they be proud of me when they learn what a mess I've made of things?"

"At least you still have a chance with them," said Harry quietly. "My parents are gone. I'll never get to know if they would have been proud of me. But you still have your parents, Neville. They're alive. Be thankful for what you've got."

There was no accusation in Harry's tone, just an infinite sadness. It echoed in Neville's heart, and tears stung at his eyes. He was mortified to by crying in front of Harry, but he couldn't help it. There was too much grief and fear and desperate hope. And it was so horribly unfair that Harry knew that grief and fear, but could never have that hope.

He would help his parents. For himself, but also for Harry. 


	28. Chapter 28

Neville slept poorly that night, haunted by confusion dreams of darkness, where he couldn't move or speak, his mother reaching out to him and turning into Bellatrix Lestrange, pointing her wand at him as a flood of water swallowed him up. By the time Harry came knocking on his door in the morning, he felt as if he'd run a marathon.

"Sorry I woke you up," Harry said, poking his head around the door and watching as Neville fought to entangle himself from the sheets. "I was just worried about you."

Neville rubbed furiously at his eyes, as if he could scrub the night terrors from his brain. "It's all right. I didn't sleep very well anyway."

Harry waited out in the hall, hovering worriedly as Neville got up and got dressed. When he was at last ready, they headed downstairs to the kitchen. But as they opened the door, they found Snape sitting with Remus at the breakfast table. The sight of the potions master sent a jolt of panic through Neville, but not for the usual reasons.

Frozen in place, he gasped, "Has something happened to my parents?"

For a moment, Snape appeared confused. Then his usual haughty expression reappeared. "No, Longbottom. Not everything is about your parents. The world continues to turn, and we need to get the laboratory ready for the full moon ritual."

In all the recent excitement, Neville had completely forgotten about their summer project. Oddly enough, Snape's scorn helped calmed his frayed nerves. After all, the times when Snape had been the most civil were usually when something horrible was happening around them. A grumpy Snape, however, meant that everything was normal. Taking several steadying breaths, Neville seated himself at the table and reached for the plate of toast. Harry sat next to him, shooting a worried glance at Remus and giving a questioning nod in Snape's direction.

Over his cup of tea, Remus explained, "Professor Snape is coming with us to Diagon Alley to buy supplies."

Snape frowned. "Do you gentlemen always sleep so late? Half the morning is wasted."

"The world continues to turn, Severus," Remus quipped, "but not that rapidly. We have plenty of time, and I for one hope we don't rush. After the last few days, we could all do with a bit of a holiday."

"Potter and Longbottom are already on holiday, and I daresay they waste enough of their time lounging around doing nothing useful."

"Diagon Alley is full of shops," Remus continued as if Snape hadn't even spoken. "Not all of them are apothecaries. We might want to visit some of the other kind."

The mention of an apothecary made Neville think of Lorien, and he couldn't help smiling.

Remus went on. "There's also Fortescue's."

"We will hardly have time for such self-indulgence," Snape dismissed.

"Seven layer sundaes," Remus wheedled. "Even you can't say no to that."

"Just watch me."

"I'm sure if we ask, they can find some ashes and sawdust to top yours with."

Neville snickered around his toast, and Harry's eyes shot back and forth between the two adults.

Snape sighed and rolled his eyes. "Your verbal barbs are sorely lacking, Lupin."

"Sorry. I'll try to do better in future."

"Silence is, I'm sure, the only way you could improve."

"Oh, I have more confidence in my abilities than that."

Ignoring him, Snape scowled at Neville and Harry. "Aren't you two finished eating yet?"

Within five minutes they were on their way, and they soon stood at the entrance to Diagon Alley. The sun was warm and bright, the street was full of witches and wizards of all ages bustling about shopping and chatting, and Neville felt his spirits lift. Even the presence of Professor Snape couldn't put a damper on the day. He was determined to enjoy himself.

"If we split up," Snape was saying, "we can finish the shopping quicker. Though I still think Miss Tonks ought to have been entrusted with this task. I daresay she would have derived more pleasure from the company."

"Perhaps," Remus agreed. "But Tonks is not on holiday, unlike Hogwarts teachers."

"Tonks?" Harry asked.

"She'll be assisting with the ritual," Remus explained.

Harry shot a delighted grin at Neville. "Awesome! And do Neville and me get to help?"

"Neville and I," Snape corrected with a scowl. "Honestly, Potter, you are old enough to speak proper English. Or is it too taxing on your puny Gryffindor brain?"

"School isn't in session, ProfessorI," Harry shot back. "You can't take points off."

Before Snape could argue back, Remus stepped between them. "Tut-tut! No fighting, please, gentlemen. Perhaps it would be best if Harry comes with me for the shopping, and Neville can accompany Professor Snape."

"You can't do that to Neville!" Harry protested.

"I don't mind," Neville hastily piped up. After all, being with Snape alone would be better than being with Snape and Harry together. He'd endured five years of Snape in classes; he could survive one morning of shopping.

"It's settled then," said Snape. He tore the shopping list in two. "You take this half, and we'll get the rest. We'll meet again in two hours."

"All right," said Remus. "Let's meet at Fortescue's."

"Lupin --."

"They have sandwiches. You can get lunch."

Snape scowled. "Fine. Longbottom! Come with me." He whirled and stalked off down the street.

Neville shrugged at Harry and Remus. "I'll see you later."

Remus gave him an encouraging smile. "Thank you, Neville."

He hastened off after the potions master. He figured he'd survive the shopping excursion by following his standard plan for family gatherings: say nothing and be as inconspicuous as possible. As long as he didn't drop anything, he ought to be all right.

He trotted along behind Snape, just outside his line of vision. Their first stop, not surprisingly, was Slug and Jiggers. Snape paused at the door and glowered at him. "Don't touch anything."

"Yes, sir."

Snape pushed the door open, and Neville followed him inside. The walls of the shop were lined with shelves stacked high with jars. Large barrels filled with ingredients crowded the floor. And standing behind the counter, wearing a white apron, was Lorien. Neville's heart skipped a beat, and he felt a stupid grin break out on his face. But Lorien did not notice him at first.

"Professor Snape!" the young woman called out. "How are you, sir? But you're a bit early, aren't you? We don't usually see you until mid-August."

"I'm not stocking up on school supplies, Miss Khan. I have other business." He approached the counter and pulled the list out of his pocket.

"Or course, Professor. And how has your summer holiday been?"

"More appalling than usual as I have been saddled with babysitting duties."

He gestured at Neville, and Lorien's face lit up in a bright smile. "Neville!"

"Hi," Neville answered shyly.

Snape glared back and forth between them. "You know each other?"

"Yes, sir. We met the other day when Rufus Kornblow was here signing autographs for his new book." Lorien turned back to Neville. "You didn't tell me you were staying with Professor Snape!"

"He isn't," Snape said. "And may I remind you, Miss Khan, we are not here for a reunion. I'm on business. Now, is Mrs. Slug here? There are some particular ingredients I need to discuss with her."

"Oh, of course, sir." She turned to the door leading to the back room. "Mrs. Slug! Professor Snape is here!"

A grey-haired witch little taller than a goblin shuffled out to the front. "Snape, eh? It is mid-August already?"

She and Snape reviewed his supply list, and Mrs. Slug scribbled some things down on a bit of parchment. "Lorien!" she barked. "Fetch these jars out of the back room."

"Certainly." As Snape turned to dig through the barrels, Lorien gestured for Neville to follow her. Neville ducked behind the counter, and they went into the store room.

"Professor Snape takes forever when he's getting supplies," Lorien explained. "But what's going on? Are you staying with him?"

"No. I'm just helping him today. We're shopping. You seem rather friendly with him, though."

"Well, of course, I am! Wasn't he head of my house?"

Neville froze in place. "You're a Slytherin!"

"Was," corrected Lorien. "But aren't you?"

"No. I'm-I'm in Gryffindor."

The expression on Lorien's face mirrored Neville's own shock. "Oh. Well..." Her mouth opened and closed without making a sound.

Neville's heart sank. Lorien had seemed so nice! How could she possibly be in Slytherin? Life just wasn't fair.

Lorien cleared her throat. "Well, Gryffindors can't all be bad, can they?" Neville frowned, and Lorien swallowed visibly. Then she brightened. "Especially not someone who likes Tolkein, right?"

A smile crept onto Neville's lips, and he felt that happy-queasy feeling in his stomach. "Right. Anyway, Slytherins can't all be bad, either."

Lorien grinned widely. "Besides, I'm not in school anymore. No more house rivalries, eh? Shake hands."

"Right." Neville held out his hand and they shook. They waited just a moment too long before letting go. Lorien grinned shyly at him, then turned back to the shelves. "Got to get those jars for Professor Snape. You read the list for me."

"Uhm," Neville looked at the first item. "Bat spleens."

Lorien groaned. "Of course, it would be something on one of the top shelves." She climbed onto a stool and reached high overhead. Neville opened his mouth to offer to help, but then he noticed how her robes hitched up, exposing her ankles stuffed into Muggle trainers. Her ankles were quite pretty, and he forgot all about chivalry.

Interrupting his contemplation, Lorien handed down the jar. "Put it on that cart," she instructed. As Neville did so, she asked for the next ingredient.

"Powdered erumpent horn."

Lorien frowned, finger on her chin, and Neville was once more distracted by how cute she looked with her lower lip pouting out. "We don't get asked for that one often. Gotta think where it is." She began rummaging through one of the shelves, and Neville had the chance to admire how her shiny black hair was twisted into an untidy knot at the back of her head.

"So, Neville," Lorien said. "What year are you in school?"

"I'll be starting sixth year in September."

"Really? I finished in '93. So would we have overlapped then?"

"Yes, I started in '91." No wonder they hadn't known each other.

"God, what an awful year that was," Lorien muttered. "Hang on. You said you're in Gryffindor. What's your name again?"

"Neville. Neville Longbottom."

"Sweet Merlin! You're the boy that stole the house cup from us!"

Neville froze, eyes wide.

Lorien laughed. "Oh, don't look so frightened. No house rivalries, right? But I have to tell you, you weren't too popular among Slytherins for that. We'd won the cup every year I was at school until then. And all because of some Gryffindor brat named Neville Longbottom. I mean, it would be one thing to be defeated by the bloody Boy Who Lived, but some boy nobody'd ever heard of?"

Neville just stood there, not sure if he wanted to run away, or pull out his wand and throw a hex at her.

She blushed. "Sorry. That didn't exactly come out right. Look, you were just a little boy, you know? But now -- it's pretty impressive for you to have won the house cup, isn't it? I mean, it wasn't bloody Potter who did it, it was you. And now -." Lorien gave another shy grin. "And now it's years later, and there are no more house rivalries, so I can say 'good job.' So you're the famous boy who won the house cup from Slytherin. Congratulations. Pleased to meet you, Neville Longbottom." She held out her hand for another shake, giving Neville's hand a gentle squeeze.

Neville smiled. "Pleased to meet you, too, Lorien Khan."

They waited a while before releasing each other's hands, and Lorien cleared her throat. "So, what else is on that list?"

Neville read the next item, and Lorien dove back into the shelves.

"So, Lorien, why did you get sorted into Slytherin?"

Lorien grinned over her shoulder. "Ambition, of course. Someday I'm going to own my own apothecary shop. Why did you get sorted into Gryffindor - bravery, right?"

Neville didn't know how to answer that, so he shrugged and changed the subject. "Did you know Draco Malfoy?"

"Malfoy? Annoying little blond git? Yeah, I remember him. Always going on about his ancestry, but don't his family only go back five hundred years? That's nothing. I'm from one of the oldest wizarding families in Pakistan. We're talking two thousand years."

"Wow," said Neville.

"You Brits were savages back when my ancestors were running the greatest civilization in the world." She frowned. "But what does that matter, anyway? After partition, things got bad for wizards in Pakistan, so my family moved here. A lot of them got tangled up with You Know Who. But that's just stupid. Didn't they learn anything from home? Pakistan is the biggest basket case in the world, and for what? Stupid ideas about certain people being better than others. What does it matter? Hindus or Muslims, Pakistanis or Indians, wizards or Muggles." She flashed Neville a grin. "Slytherins or Gryffindors. People are just people, right?"

"Yeah," said Neville.

"You're letting me talk too much, Neville. Read me the next item on the list, then tell me something about yourself."

Neville glanced at the list. "Next is --."

"Lorien!" Mrs. Slug yelled from the front of the shop. "Are you asleep back there? Hurry up with those supplies!"

Lorien jumped. "Quick, read it out."

Neville read the list, and Lorien quickly found all the items, stacked them on the cart, and wheeled it to the front of the shop.

"Sorry about that, Mrs. Slug. I had some trouble finding the tubeworms."

Snape swooped down on the cart and began inspecting the wares, approving of some, disapproving of others. Lorien and Neville couldn't really talk in front of Snape and Mrs. Slug, so they contented themselves with grinning at each other and making silent gestures.

"Lorien," Mrs. Slug finally broke in. "If you're finished making stupid faces, you can wrap up Professor Snape's purchases."

"Yes, ma'am."

While Snape paid the bill, Lorien bagged the ingredients and handed them to Neville. "Hang on a minute," she whispered. Pulling a bit of parchment out of her apron pocket, she hastily scribbled something down. "My address," she said, handing it to Neville. "Next time you're coming to Diagon Alley, owl me first. We'll arrange a time to get together. You still need to tell me something about yourself."

She grinned, and Neville smiled back. "All right."

"Mr. Longbottom!" Snape called from the door. "We still have much to do!"

"Yes, sir!" he replied.

"Good-bye, Professor Snape," Lorien called. "It was good to see you again, sir."

Snape nodded and left the shop, Neville scrambling after him, trying to shoot one more smile at Lorien before the door closed.

Out in the street, Snape looked at the piece of parchment Neville was clutching, and scowled. "What did she give you?" he demanded.

"Erm, she gave me her address," Neville stammered. Juggling the packages, he tried to stick the parchment in his pocket.

"Don't drop anything!" Snape scolded, seizing a couple of the packages before Neville could let them fall. He watched as Neville tucked the parchment safely away, then handed the packages back. "So you met Miss Khan here?"

Neville didn't see what business it was of Snape's. But perhaps Snape knew something he didn't. Maybe Lorien was a Death Eater! She seemed nice, but then Neville wasn't the best judge of character. "Is there something wrong? Should I not trust her?"

"Why would you say that?" Snape shot back. "Miss Khan was a prefect. I merely wonder if you have any idea what you're doing."

"What do you mean, sir?"

Snape pursed his lips. "Gryffindors and Slytherins aren't known to be friends."

Neville thought about that. "But you're friends with Professor Lupin, aren't you?"

Snape stared at him, one eyebrow raised. Then he gave a "hmph" and headed off down the street.

When they passed the cauldron-maker, Neville asked, "Don't we have to get cauldrons and things?"

"Lupin and Potter will be getting those supplies. We have more ingredients to buy."

Just then Snape turned down Knockturn Alley, and Neville balked as if he'd hit a brick wall. "Sir!" he called out.

Snape whirled on his heel. "Come along, Longbottom."

"But - but - my Gran - she told me never to wander down here!"

"Your 'Gran'," Snape dismissed. "You're not wandering, you are accompanying me." His brow darkened, and he gave Neville a sinister smile. "And I do advise you to stick close to me, lest some unscrupulous wizard abduct you, chop you up, and sell your liver to me as a potion ingredient. I would be greatly distressed to buy a product of such inferior quality."

A teeny part of Neville's brain suspected he was being teased again, but the rest of his brain had been concocting horrific stories about Knockturn Alley for years, so he hastily scrambled close to Snape's side.

They worked their way down the narrow, winding street. The sun barely penetrated the alley's gloom, and the air felt damp and clammy on Neville's skin. The shop windows were crusted with dirt, and he couldn't really see what was inside. Was it his imagination, or did the wizards and witches here all have a sneaky gleam in their eye, as if they were here on business that wasn't quite proper? Or legal.

At last Snape led the way into another apothecary. Like Slug and Jiggers, the walls were lined with shelves and jars, but the jars looked creepier. The interior was lit only by the murky light coming in from the filthy windows. A large gray figure uncurled itself in a corner. It turned out to be a very tall, very thin, very cobwebby wizard.

"Professor Snape," said a raspy voice. "How good to see you."

"Mr. Betelgeuse," Snape nodded in greeting. "I have some special requests."

He handed over a list, and Mr. Betelgeuse fixed a pince-nez to the bridge of his nose and studied the parchment. "Yes, yes. I think I have some items you will be satisfied with." He shuffled around the shop, pulling down jars off of shelves, and Neville swore he could hear Mr. Betelgeuse's bones clacking together with each step.

Unfortunately, this apothecary shop had no attractive young apprentice to ogle, so Neville turned his attention to the nearest shelf. He could barely see the jars' contents in the dim light, and he leaned close to one murky jar to inspect it. When his eyes at last adjusted, he saw that the jar was full of crawling millipedes. He jumped back in fright.

Behind him, a deep voice rumbled, "Mr. Betelgeuse stocks certain very fresh supplies." He whirled to see Snape smirking nastily down at him. "If you were to wander off alone, you might end up in a dozen jars on these very shelves."

Again, Neville had the feeling that Snape was teasing, but he was too unnerved to find it very funny. "Please, sir. Why couldn't we get everything we need at Slug and Jiggers?"

"Not all shops are alike. Each one has its specialties. This isn't some Muggle grocery chain, stocking a bit of everything, and all of it poor quality."

"Yes, sir."

"One-stop shopping will never yield satisfactory results. Remember that, Longbottom."

"I will, sir."

"No you won't, you stupid boy. You won't remember anything that a child of moderate intelligence might have learned on this shopping trip. No doubt you are thinking about that ice cream sundae at Fortescue's."

"No, sir," said Neville. "I'm thinking about how I'd really like not to end up in a jar on one of these shelves."

"A dozen jars, Longbottom. All your useful ingredients wouldn't fit in just one."

"Yes, sir."

The cobwebby wizard heaved a phlegmy cough and wheezed, "Here you are, Professor. Perhaps you'd like to take a look."

"Come here, Longbottom," said Snape, approaching the counter where six or seven jars had been lined up for inspection. "One should never just buy whatever is in a jar. It is necessary to inspect the items for quality. For example." He took a pair of tongs and dipped into one of the jars, pulling out a long, gnarled root. "Tell me what is wrong with this dandelion root, since Professor Sprout seems to think you have a talent for herbology."

Neville peered at the thing, all too aware that both Snape and Betelgeuse were watching him closely. "Um. Well." He wished he could see better in the dim light. He felt very foolish, especially since... "Sir, are you sure that's a dandelion root?"

Snape's face was impassive. "What else would it be?"

Neville looked at the root, forcing himself not to chew his nails as he examined it. "Well, it looks more like an asphodel root."

"I'm not interested in what it looks like. I'm interested in what it is."

"I-I think it's a asphodel root, sir."

"You think it is. Is that your opinion, or is it fact?"

Feeling a bit more confident, he said, "It is an asphodel root, sir."

"Very well. Now that you have finally identified it correctly, tell me what's wrong with it."

Neville tilted his head to one side and squinted at the root, but it looked fine to him. Perhaps Snape was just having him on again. "Nothing's wrong with it, sir. It looks fine."

"This isn't an exercise in aesthetics, Longbottom. Kindly stop wasting my time. How do you know that it looks fine? What are you inspecting it for?"

"Well, it's not bruised or broken. It's a good yellowish color, and it has no holes where bugs have eaten it."

"Is it old or fresh?"

"It's fresh." He quickly added, "If you pinch it with your fingernail, you'll know how fresh it is."

"It's covered in dirt. Is that good or bad?"

Neville thought for a moment. "Professor Sprout says you shouldn't wash roots until just before you use them, because they'll dry out faster when they're washed."

"Would you use this root?"

"Yes, sir. I would."

With a "hmph," Snape replaced the root in the jar. "I'm sure I can find a better one." He rummaged through the jar, finally pulling out a root that Neville thought looked just as good as the one he had approved. Snape placed the root on a piece of wrapping paper, then went through the other jars, pointing out the merits and demerits of each item while Neville listened and tried to look intelligent. He had a tough time not turning green, though, when they got to the dried badger testicles.

At last their purchases had all been chosen and wrapped, and Snape paid the bill. With a farewell to Mr. Betelgeuse, they headed back out into the street.

There were still a few more items on their list, and Neville's arms were increasingly filled with more and more packages. Snape paused outside a glassworks shop, pondering some pipettes, and Neville was looking around, studying the crowds. The light in the alley had grown brighter, and he looked up to see the sun beginning to peep over the tops of the buildings. As he lowered his gaze, his eyes caught on a figure standing in an upper story window, peering out from between the curtains. When the figure saw him staring, a pale hand pushed the curtain aside, granting him a full view.

Thin, white face.

Long, black hair.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

His eyes widened, and her pale lips turned up in a smile.

He didn't know what to do. Should he yell bloody murder? Should he try to be sneaky? Heart pounding, he edged closer to Snape, letting one of the packages bump the potions master's leg.

"Don't be so clumsy, Longbottom," Snape chided.

Looking casually at the pipettes Snape had been studying, Neville murmured, "Sir, I just saw Bellatrix Lestrange."

Snape grew still. "Are you hallucinating?"

"No, sir. I saw her in the second-story window above Borgin and Burkes."

Snape's black eyes flashed to the plate glass window of the shop in front of them, and Neville realized he was searching the reflection of the building across the street. "Is she still there?"

Neville glanced up. "The curtain's been drawn shut."

"Did she see you?"

"Yes, sir. When she saw me looking at her, she opened the curtain wide."

Snape squeezed his eyes shut. "Damn. All right, Mr. Longbottom. Let's go, but not too hastily.

They headed right out of Knockturn Alley. Snape led the way, not stopping until they reached the owl post. They went inside, where he dashed off two quick notes. With the owls dispatched, Snape stood thinking, tapping his chin with his finger.

Neville asked, "Are you going to try to catch her, sir?"

"Don't be daft, Longbottom. She's long gone by now. I'm just wondering why she would have allowed you to see her." He shook himself out of his speculation. "Let us hope that Potter has not been stupid enough to wander away from Lupin. She would not hesitate to attack him if she found him alone."

Neville couldn't exactly argue with that.

"We're still a bit early," said Snape, "but let's go on to Fortescue's. Perhaps the others will be there by now."

Without another word, Snape swooped on down the street, Neville dashing after him. When they arrived at Fortescue's, Snape led the way inside to a table near the window. "Sit," he instructed sharply.

Neville pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, grateful for the chance to put down his packages. Snape stood for a moment, peering out the window with his arms across his chest.

Flexing his arms to get the blood flowing back into them again, Neville asked, "Are you looking for Remus and Harry?"

Eyes still on the street outside the shop, Snape grumbled, "Why on earth would I waste my time looking for people I expect to see?"

Neville figured this must mean he was looking for Bellatrix Lestrange, so he turned and scanned the crowd as well. But he didn't see her.

At last Snape took a seat, though he kept his gaze trained outside.

Mr. Fortescue approached them, wiping his hands on his apron. "Well, well, well! If it isn't Professor Snape! Doing your school shopping a bit early this year, aren't you?"

"I am here on other business," said Snape.

"Ah, wonderful! Will it be your usual, then? Strawberry phosphate with a scoop of vanilla ice cream?"

Neville's eyes bugged. So much for ash-and-sawdust topping.

"No," said Snape. "We're waiting for the rest of our party."

"I see." Fortescue beamed at Neville. "And would the young lad care for something while you wait?"

"No, he would not," said Snape.

"A glass of water, please," said Neville. "It's hot, and I've been carrying all these packages."

Fortescue brought him the water, and Neville and Snape settled down to an uneasy silence. While Snape glared out the window, Neville slipped his hand into his pocket to touch the slip of parchment Lorien had given him, remembering how her fingers had felt squeezing his hand. The memory made him all tingly inside.

Before long, Snape announced, "They're here."

Neville looked up to see Remus and Harry enter the shop, their arms laden with packages.

"Looks like I won, Harry," said Remus. "They finished before we did. So, is everyone ready for that sundae?"

"No sundaes, Lupin," Snape warned, his voice low. "While we were in Knockturn Alley, Mr. Longbottom saw Bellatrix Lestrange. More to the point, she saw him."

Remus's face paled, and he shot a worried look at Neville. Harry pursed his lips together, as if he were prepared to run out into the street and start throwing curses.

"I sent owls to Dumbledore and Shacklebolt," Snape continued, "but I think it would be best if we leave immediately."

"Yes," said Remus faintly. "Yes, you're right. Sorry about the ice cream, boys."

"That's all right," said Neville.

"I recommend that we floo to Hogwarts, and from there continue on," said Snape. "That will keep anyone from following us."

Neville picked up his packages, and they headed right out. From the Leaky Cauldron they flooed to Hogwarts, arriving in a room that Neville recognized as the teachers' lounge.

When Remus stepped through the fireplace, the last one to arrive, Snape said, "I want to discuss this matter with the Headmaster. You go on ahead back to the house, and I'll be along shortly."

Remus nodded. "All right, boys, let's go."

Back into the fireplace, and within moments they were all in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.

"I can't believe it!" Harry exclaimed, dumping his packages in a heap on the table. "You actually saw Bellatrix Lestrange!"

Quickly Neville told them what happened, Harry hanging eagerly onto every word.

"Of course Snape wouldn't go after her," Harry said at last. "He's one of them!"

Remus shot him a quelling look. "It would have been very foolish for Snape to go after her by himself. Not only would it be dangerous, but he would have left Neville alone."

Harry didn't look convinced, but he dropped the subject in favor of a new one. "It must have been awful, shopping with Snape."

"It wasn't too bad," Neville replied, "except he made me carry all the packages. And it was cool to go to Knockturn Alley, though he said wizards would kidnap me and sell me as potions ingredients."

Remus frowned. "You do know that wouldn't have happened, don't you?"

"Yeah, of course," lied Neville. "Anyway, we went to this creepy apothecary, and Snape quizzed me about an asphodel root, but I got all the answers right."

Harry only scowled. "Bet if we were at school, he still wouldn't give you any points. He'd just say Hermione had given you the answers."

"Yeah, but Hermione wasn't there, was she?" Neville didn't need any points. He felt proud enough to have answered Snape correctly. "Oh, but the funniest thing was when we went to Fortescue's. Mr. Fortescue asked Snape if he'd like the usual. Guess what it was?"

"Liver ice cream topped with broken glass?" Harry asked.

Neville grinned. "Strawberry phosphate with vanilla ice cream."

"Ah," Remus laughed. "The secret is out: Severus Snape is human after all!"

"I don't believe he was ever human," growled Harry.

"Of course he's human," said Remus. "And he's gotten mellower with age."

"Mellower?" Harry repeated. "You mean he used to be worse!"

"Well, a little bit mellower. He doesn't throw hexes any more."

"But now he's a teacher, and he's always taking millions of points off of Gryffindor!"

"I'd rather he take points off than throw hexes. Believe me: I've been on the receiving end of his hexes."

"Really?" Neville broke in, interested. "When?"

"Ages ago; we were in the same year at school together."

"You were? Wow. It's hard to imagine Snape as a student."

"Oh yes. And if you think he's prickly now, you should have known him then. He was always--."

Just then there was a rush of wind in the fireplace, and Professor Snape stepped through.

"Severus!" Remus greeted him with a bright smile. "We were just talking about you."

Snape's expression was so chilly, Neville swore the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. "Were you?" Snape hissed.

Remus swallowed hard, a bit of his enthusiasm leaching away. Trying to recover, he said, "Um, yes. We were wondering if you planned to stay for dinner."

"Alas for us all, I shall. The Headmaster thinks it wise that someone else stay here overnight, as a precaution." Glowering his displeasure, he looked at the stacks of packages on the table. "Since I am here, we ought to take the supplies to the laboratory and start setting it up."

"All right." Remus turned to Harry and Neville. "Boys, would you help Professor Snape take the things upstairs? I have to contact Tonks. She was going to bring some take away for dinner tonight, and I need to let her know we've an extra mouth to feed."

Dutifully, Neville gathered up the packages he'd been carrying all day, nudging Harry to do the same. Arms full, they followed the potions master up the stairs to the empty laboratory. Once in the room, Snape paused and looked around, drawing his robe tightly around him. "This room could bear another cleaning."

"No one's been in it since we did the spell," Harry protested, dumping his packages on one of the tables.

Snape's brows drew together in a scowl. "Have you never heard of dust? Longbottom, fetch a broom and sweep the floor. Potter, open the packages, and we'll start treating the cauldrons."

Both boys did as instructed. Neville saw Harry's lips moving, but he thankfully refrained from complaining out loud. Meanwhile, Snape began unwrapping empty jars for the boys to wash when they'd finished their tasks. Neville noticed that Snape preferred to boss them around rather than do any of the work himself. It was a bit surprising that he would trust them to do the work at all, considering how often he complained about Neville's and Harry's performance in the classroom.

About half an hour later, just when Neville and Harry were getting started washing out the glass jars under Snape's watchful eye, Remus came up with a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "Lunch!" he called out cheerily as he set the things down.

Harry dropped the jar he'd been scrubbing into the sink of soapy water, and said, "Great, I'm starved!"

"For pity's sake, Lupin, not on that table!" Snape scolded. "We don't need crumbs in the ingredients."

"Oh, sorry," said Remus. He looked around. "Bless me, we have no place to sit, do we?"

"We can sit on the floor," Neville suggested. "Professor Snape had me sweep it twice, so it's very clean."

Remus smirked at the potions master. "How clever of you, Severus. It'll be a picnic!"

Snape did not deign to comment.

They all settled onto the floor, digging into the mound of sandwiches. They ate quickly, and soon were back to work. Remus's presence made the tasks much more pleasant, and in truth Neville didn't mind the work. It gave them something to do, and it took his mind off his parent's situation. Besides, it was nice to think he was helping the Order in their battle against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry might like to rush headlong into danger, waving his wand around, but Neville was quite content to remain in the background. Sweeping the floor was a lot safer than sticking his wand up the noses of Death Eaters.

The afternoon passed surprisingly quickly. Remus carried most of the conversation, skillfully deflecting Snape's and Harry's snark, and before long all the cauldrons had been treated, the jars washed, and the ingredients labeled and packed away. Snape was hovering over Neville and Harry, supervising while they gave the worktables a final scrubdown, when they heard a voice call out, "Wotcher! Anybody here?"

Remus leaned out of the door. "We're up here, Tonks!"

"Shall I bring dinner up?" she shouted from downstairs.

Snape scowled. "Good heavens, no. We don't need any spills on the clean tables."

With a smirk, Remus called out, "We'll be down shortly."

If Snape had had his way, he'd probably have kept them scrubbing for another half hour, but Remus quickly pronounced them finished, praising their work while Snape frowned his disapproval, as if eager to take house points for their sloppiness.

They trooped downstairs to the kitchen, where they found Tonks standing proudly next to the laid-out table. "I'm no Molly Weasley," she said as her hair turned red and then back to green, "But the spread looks good, don't you think?"

"No doubt it is improved by the fact that you did not cook it yourself," Snape said as he took a seat.

Tonks merely laughed. "I'm sure you're right, Professor. Well everyone, dig in. And after - by special request - I brought the fixings for ice cream sundaes!"

Neville and Harry beamed at the news, crying, "Thank you!" while Remus looked smug.

"Since circumstances prevented our reward," he said, "better late than never, right?"

"I have one question though," Tonks said as she dug into one of the take-away containers. "Who is the strawberry phosphate for?" 


	29. Chapter 29

Note: I appreciate your patience this past week! I had to get some loose ends to fit together properly. Anyway, there are about five more chapters after this, and they should appear daily from here on out. I guarantee that everything will be up by June 8!

When Neville went downstairs for breakfast the morning after their Diagon Alley excursion, he found Harry hovering in the hall outside the kitchen, his face twisted into an expression of misery.

"He's still here," Harry hissed.

Neville glanced at the door. There didn't seem to be any point in reminding Harry that Snape was helping to guard them from Bellatrix. He gave a shrug. "He wasn't so terribly awful last night, was he?"

"Yeah, but Tonks was here'" Harry pointed out.

Neville had to agree that Tonks had an amazing ability to spread good cheer no matter what the company. Indeed, Snape seemed to have faded into the background during the previous night's dinner. All Neville could really remember was Tonks regaling them with tales of her adventures as an auror. He'd also noticed she had a habit of ruffling Remus's hair and slinging her arm around his neck, touching him constantly. It all seemed to be in fun, so it hadn't really bothered Neville. He found he liked Tonks more and more as he got to know her.

But she had left late last night, and she certainly wouldn't be there this morning to distract them all from Snape.

"I swear," Harry moaned, "this is worse than living with the Dursleys."

"Well." Neville couldn't think of anything to say that would make their situation look better. "Anyway, I'm hungry, and I'm not going to let him keep me from eating breakfast."

Harry sneered as if he would disagree, but when Neville pushed open the door to enter the kitchen, Harry nevertheless followed him.

As expected, Snape and Remus were seated at the table, a pot of tea and a plate of kippers and toast between them. Snape heaved a deep sigh at their appearance and buried his large nose in his teacup, as if he was as weary of their company as they were of his.

Remus, however, was his typical good-natured self. "Good morning, boys. Sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," Neville answered politely while Harry merely shrugged and slumped into a chair.

"Professor Snape had the Hogwarts house elves send breakfast round," Remus said, shoving the plates in front of them.

The food looked better than the cold toast and soggy Witchabix they'd been eating all summer. "Thank you, sir!" Neville exclaimed as he loaded up his plate with kippers.

"It's no gift, I assure you, Longbottom," Snape sneered. "Your days of lounging around this house doing nothing are over. We need to start preparing for the consecration spells in that laboratory. The headmaster insists that the two of you earn your keep by helping out, so you need nutritious meals to build up your strength for the task."

Neville glanced eagerly at Remus. "We get to help?"

"Of course," Remus answered with a smile, and Harry finally perked up a bit at the news.

Between mouthfuls of kippers, Neville peppered Remus with questions about the spells. Harry listened avidly, and soon he, too, entered the discussion. Even Snape made the occasional comment, correcting Remus or scoffing at the boys' questions.

They were in the middle of a debate about how to contain concentrated magic when a loud whoosh startled them all. The fireplace flared green, and a copy of the Daily Prophet shot out, landing on the table with a thwack and sending Snape's teacup flying.

"Merlin's beard!" Snape squawked, picking at his robes now sodden with cold tea. "What is that?"

"Sorry." Remus cast a quick drying spell on Snape's robe. "Tonks always sends the paper over when she's through with it. She's late today. I guess she got stuck on the crossword."

A bright purple scribble caught Neville's eye. "There's a note written on it."

Remus unrolled the paper and laid it flat, reading aloud, "See page four." He turned the pages and shook the paper open. When his eyes lit on the article in question, all the color drained from his face.

The others waited expectantly, but Remus continued to read in silence, his eyes wide.

"Well, what is it?" prompted Snape.

Remus lowered the paper, but it was Neville he looked at. "Driftwood was found dead in his home yesterday after he failed to appear at work. The Ministry is trying to claim it was a heart attack, but St. Mungo's officials declare that he had been in good health. There was not a mark on him."

All sound and light seemed to close in around Neville. He could barely hear Remus's words over the loud pounding of his heart. He could only dimly see Remus's face before him, was unaware of either Harry or Snape sitting nearby. He fought to force air through his lungs, to make his lips move. "My parents!" he croaked.

Remus glanced again at the paper. "Tonks wrote a note. She says Dumbledore has doubled the watch on your parents. Mad-Eye thinks it was Bellatrix Lestrange looking for information on Cruciatus, so they're sending Tonks tonight with a pensieve to see if we can retrieve those memories your mother put in you." Remus hesitated. "If you're still willing."

Neville nodded, his mind's eye filled with the vision of a pale face framed with long, black hair, staring down at him from a window.

Next to him Harry muttered, "I can't say I'm sorry he's dead."

But Neville didn't quite share the sentiment. All he could think of was Driftwood's warning that he'd been helping Neville's parents all along. He rubbed nervously at the tip of his nose. "When is Tonks coming?"

"She said not to expect her until after six."

"Right." Neville stood up. He desperately wanted to leave, but his mind was blank. "I'm going to --." He floundered. "That is, I think I --."

"Yeah, me too," Harry interrupted, getting to his feet and taking Neville by the elbow. "Come on, let's go."

"We'll see you later," Neville heard Remus say as Harry led him out of the room.

Neville didn't know where to go or what to do. His mind was numb with fear, and he could scarcely see in front of him. He might have walked right into a wall if Harry hadn't been next to him, gripping him firmly by the elbow and leading him up the stairs and down the hall. A door opened before him, and Neville stepped forward, stopping only when he came to a window. He turned around and paced back across the room, not even aware that he was doing it, not even sure where he was, his mind filled only with thoughts of Bellatrix, of his parents, and of Driftwood dead for good or ill.

Slowly his panic drained away, and he realized he was pacing back and forth in his room while Harry sat perched on the edge of the bed, tracking Neville's path. Neville stopped abruptly and looked around. He spied Trevor squatting in a cobwebby corner. The toad belched a croak and proceeded to lick his eyeballs clean. He always did that when he was worried. Neville realized that he was breathing hard from all that pacing and he took a deep breath. He willed his fists to unclench themselves at his sides. Then he looked over at Harry, sitting on the bed.

Quietly, Harry asked, "When you saw Bellatrix Lestrange, what did she say?"

Neville closed his eyes. "She didn't say anything. She was in a building across the street. I only saw her through the window."

Harry considered this in silence. "Did she do anything?"

"She smiled." He saw those thin lips pull back, the mad gleam in her eyes visible even over such a great distance. He shivered. "She looked at me and smiled."

Harry pulled his feet up onto the bed and rested his chin on his knees, his brows drawn together. "That's not good."

"Yeah. Snape was really worried about it."

Harry scowled but mercifully didn't say anything about Snape. When he finally spoke, his voice was just above a whisper. "When I see her, I'm going to kill her."

Neville pressed his lips together, wondering if that was meant as a criticism of him for not doing just that. But how could he have killed her right there in the street with all those people around? He had sworn to kill her, too, but when she finally appeared, he'd done nothing, immobilized with shock and horror at the sight of her. He'd come apart, just as he had in that weird daydream, drowning in a flood of fear. It was one thing to sit in bed in the safety of this house and swear bloody vengeance, but another thing entirely to point your wand in someone's face in the middle of a crowded street and utter words that would stop a person's heart. Perhaps the portrait of Bellatrix was right. Perhaps he didn't have it in him to kill anyone. When he thought of all his parents had been through, rage flooded his heart, but perhaps that rage wasn't the same thing as murderous anger. What was it, then? And did Harry know? Or was it all just ignorant bravado? He stared blindly at the window, painted over and black, like his mind.

No illumination could get in.

Neville spent the entire day fretting over what would happen that night. He was eager to catch another glimpse of his mother and father as they'd been in their prime, but the fact was they were strangers to him. Would he even recognize them when they were healthy and whole. And how would he be able to look at his parents again when he knew what they hade once been?

The day seemed to drag on for an eternity. By the time Tonks finally arrived that evening Neville was a jangle of nerves and excitement. She blundered into the house with a cheery, "Wotcher!" and found them waiting for her in the kitchen. Snape barely glanced at her as he stepped into the fireplace and flooed back to Hogwarts, as if his shift as guard had just ended.

Flashing a grin at Neville, Tonks asked, "You all ready to clear out your brain?"

"Um." Neville gulped hard around the lump in his throat. "I guess."

Her expression softened a bit. "You'll be all right, Nev. It's not like those thoughts will vanish. They'll be kept safely in here." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny pensieve, magically shrunken, and tossed it in the air as if it were a snitch.

Remus gave a little squeak. "Do you really think you should be throwing that around?"

"I won't drop it," answered Tonks. "Whoops!" She fumbled for the pensieve, then triumphantly held it up as Remus cringed in horror. "Let's get to it, then, shall we?"

She led the way up the stairs toward the library, Remus and Neville following her, while Harry trailed uncertainly behind.

"Is it all right if I come too?" Harry asked as the other three filed into the library.

Neville hesitated in the doorway. "If you don't mind, I'd rather you didn't. It's just that I don't really know what's going to happen, and..." He trailed off. Even now he couldn't quite bear to think of what might come out of his brain.

"Sure," Harry quickly agreed. "I'll see you later, then. And Neville, you'll be all right." He raised his arm as if he were going to reach for Neville, but stopped himself.

Neville nodded and closed the library door.

Remus and Tonks were already seated around the worktable, the pensieve placed in the center. As Neville pulled out a chair for himself, he wondered how they could extract thoughts he didn't even know he had. Tonks started out by talking about the research his parents had done and asking questions, and without him being aware of it, his mother's thoughts began to rise to the surface of his mind. With each question Tonks asked, Neville sought the answers, and Remus stood at the ready, wand poised to catch the thoughts and draw them from his mind, dropping them to swirl and eddy in the pensieve.

Neville was scarcely aware of the thoughts leaving his brain. He would feel a puff of air and a tickle at his temple, and then a silver stream of consciousness would pour into the pensieve. As each strand was added, his own thoughts seemed sharper, more clear, as if a veil had been removed from his eyes.

By the time they finished, the pensieve was filled to the brim with swirling thoughts, and Neville's head felt lighter than he had ever known. He stared into the pearly depths of the pensieve, as unfathomable as his mother's mind. Yet these were her thoughts. He was closer to understanding her now than he had ever been before, near enough to touch her thoughts.

Remus watched as Neville tentatively extended a fingertip toward the pensieve. "Do you want to look?" he quietly asked.

Startled, Neville pulled back as if he'd been caught trying to steal into a candy jar. He folded his hands in his lap. "It's just stuff about Cruciatus, isn't it? I wouldn't understand it anyway."

Remus regarded him closely. "Does that matter?"

Neville didn't answer, just stared into the bowl.

"Go on," Tonks gently prompted. "I don't need to take it back to the Ministry right away."

Neville's pulse pounded loudly in his temples and he fought to keep his breathing even. He leaned over the bowl, as if sniffing a pot of savory soup, and reaching out, dipped his finger into the silvery swirls.

Instantly the thoughts pulled him in, and he tumbled through the subconscious, landing in a heap on a hard surface. Shaking his head to clear it, he pushed himself up and dusted himself off.

He was in an office. Two desks were pushed against opposite walls, piled high with scrolls and dusty books and ink-spattered quills. A large map covered one wall, peppered with scores of red tacks. The carpet was littered with crumpled scraps of parchment.

And there, sitting in two chairs drawn up side by side next to one of the desks were Alice and Frank Longbottom. Neville's heart seized in his chest and he could only stare, holding his breath as if the next puff of air would make this vision disappear forever. They looked exactly as they had in his daydream, young and plump and full of life, their cheeks full, their hair thick and lustrous. His dad's long, thin nose, a sprinkle of freckles dusting his cheeks. His mother's long hair tied up in a ribbon. He approached them slowly in wonder, his hands outstretched to touch their heads bowed together over the desk, but his hands passed through thin air. He bit his lip, fighting to hold back his frustration. Wasn't it enough that he could see and hear them? Did he really need to be able to touch as well?

"I see what you mean," Frank said, his voice strong and deep, sending chills down Neville's spine. He could see now that they were studying an old parchment covered with strange, foreign writing. "It might work. In theory."

Alice cocked her head at her husband, a spark of impatience in her eyes. "In theory?" she said, sounding just like she had in his dream. "You know I'm right, Frankie. The curse gets its power from resistance. No resistance, no power."

"This isn't the kind of thing that can be tested," continued Frank. "No one will agree to be hexed with Cruciatus in the name of research."

"It could be tested, and I don't mean in the manner of our dear Dr. Hackenbush." Neville jumped at the familiar name, but Alice didn't even pause. "If we tell the aurors, and," she lowered her voice," the members of the Order, then they can be prepared next time they're in combat with Death Eaters, and we'll see if it works."

"Right. Just tell them, 'Oh, and when you get hit with Cruciatus, just relax!'"

Alice leaned back in her chair, angrily crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, it couldn't hurt. It's not as if there's any other way to resist the curse."

"True." Frank sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

For a long moment there was silence, as if each of them was lost in their own thoughts. Neville didn't mind. It gave him the chance to just look at them, to study their expressions, the way their brows furrowed, the quirk of their lips, to memorize the way the light shone in their eyes. He could recognize the faces of his parents in these two people, yet never had he seen them so alive and animated. Seeing them like this gave him hope. Surely these two young and lively people couldn't really be gone forever. They must still exist, locked somewhere in his parents' minds.

Neville was so absorbed in the sight of them that he almost missed it when his father spoke again. "So how exactly does one not resist Cruciatus?"

Alice's brows drew together, her words coming slowly as if from deep inside herself. "I suppose it means total surrender, to give yourself over completely to the pain. But not just the physical sensation. The curse originates in the will of the caster to do harm, so you would have to surrender to that malicious will, to accept whatever might happen, to harbor no desire for conquest or vengeance. You'd have to simply absorb that will to do harm."

"Simply, you say." Frank shook his head. "Do you really think you could surrender if I were threatened? Or Neville?"

The breath caught in Neville's throat at the sound of his own name. He'd never heard either of his parents say his name in all the years that he could remember. He silently willed his father to say it again.

But instead Alice spoke, her eyes wide. "No," she said. "I'd fight any will that sought to harm you or Neville."

Neville choked, tears squeezing from his eyes.

Frank favored his wife with an indulgent smile. "But by your own logic, if you fought, you'd lose."

"I know." The smile she gave him was said. "I'm doomed, aren't I?"

With a sob, Neville tore himself free of the memory. 


	30. Chapter 30

The information retrieved from the pensieve unleashed a storm of debate among the members of the Order. While Dumbledore permitted only a privileged few to view the contents of the pensieve - among them Snape, to Neville's mortification - everyone had an opinion on the theories his parents had been working on. Even Harry weighed in on the debate, though it was usually only Neville who had to listen to him opine, "It's too hard! Not fight? How can you not fight the Death Eaters? I don't care what anyone says, if I see Bellatrix Lestrange, I'll fight her with everything I've got!" It quickly became tedious, especially since Neville thought Harry was missing the point entirely.

No one else discussed their theories directly with Neville, but he heard the conversations all around him. And while his parents' names were seldom mentioned, nevertheless the topic on everyone's lips was the research the Longbottoms had done. All his life Neville had been told that his parents were heroes in the war against He Who Must Not Be Named, an image he'd never been able to reconcile with the two broken people living on the residents' ward at St. Mungo's. But now it seemed real. Alice and Frank Longbottom were important to the fight. They weren't just a memory, they were actively involved, and Neville's heart glowed warmly whenever he overheard the debates about Cruciatus.

Life had now become very busy at Grimmauld Place as preparations began in earnest for the consecration ritual on the laboratory. Snape and Tonks would oversee the ritual, and Neville and Harry would serve as assistants. At least Harry had managed to put his animosity toward Snape aside. The potions master had been unsuccessful in lobbying to get the boys banished from the proceedings, and they were too excited about it all to fret too much over him. Snape had to channel his disappointment into drilling the boys night and day. In addition to all that work, they also had to get started on the homework they'd been putting off all summer. By the time Neville finally crawled into bed every night, he was exhausted.

Finally the day of the full moon arrived. They'd spent the last few days drilling the ritual until the boys could do it in their sleep. Tonks came early enough to join them for dinner, and Snape arrived just after the meal, bearing Remus's dose of wolfsbane.

As Remus drank it down, Tonks heaved a dramatic sigh. "I do wish you could join us. It's a pity the ritual has to be carried out at the full moon."

"Miss Tonks," Snape rebuked, "you are well aware that the full moon is a powerful time for magic."

She waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I know. But it's rotten that poor Lupin has to spend it locked up in a damp basement."

Lowering the goblet, Remus grimaced and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Don't worry. It's no hardship. And you will do fine at the ritual without me. After all, you'll be in the capable hands of Harry and Neville."

"Indeed," Snape intoned, curling his lip. "What joy."

"Well, I'd best be off," said Remus. "You have a long night ahead of you. Good luck."

"And to you!" chirped Tonks. "Have fun dreaming of rabbits!"

While Snape stood at the foot of the stairs rolling his eyes, Neville and Harry bid Remus good night. Then Remus headed down to the basement while the others climbed the stairs to the laboratory. Once there, Snape immediately began handing out orders for the preparations, despite the fact that everyone already knew what to do.

Neville and Harry started laying out the equipment while Tonks set up the work place. As she placed the wood chips in the brazier for the fire, she said to Snape, "I expect you'll be discovering the cure for lycanthropy any day now, won't you, Professor?"

He stared down his long nose at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Certainly if anyone can do it, you can."

He pursed his lips together, and Neville thought he could detect a gleam of self-satisfaction in Snape's eyes. "Be that as it may, I have far more important tasks filling my time."

"Of course. After the war then," Tonks said cheerily. She turned to Neville and Harry. "Have you boys got your OWL results yet?"

"Not yet," said Harry.

"Oh, not to worry. I'm sure you both did well. Me, I tended to muck up on ordinary lessons, but I always pulled through on exams." She glanced up at Snape. "Isn't that right, Professor?"

He merely curled his lip, and she continued, "I don't know if you boys have noticed, but I can be a bit clumsy sometimes. And I'm always forgetting things. If I don't put my wand in the same place every single time, I can never find it. But when it's time to get down to business, I'm sharp as a knife." She laughed, the sound echoing loudly off the bare walls. "Do you remember what I was like in your class, Professor? I was always knocking over cauldrons and spilling ingredients." She bent over in a fit of giggles. "And remember that time I set fire to your robes?"

"Indeed, Miss Tonks," Snape said, his tone casting a chill in the air. "In all my fifteen miserable years of teaching, that event stands out as one of the lowest points."

"It's good to know I was so memorable to you, sir! I adored potions. It was my favorite subject."

Snape sneered. "Really? I find that hard to believe."

"Oh, yes! What other subject had such enormous potential for explosions? Everything else was boring in comparison. I mean, it's not likely anything is going to catch fire in herbology, is it?"

Snape scowled. "I am distressed to hear that opportunity for mayhem ranks so high in your priorities."

"That was the other thing I loved about your class. No one else scolds quite so dramatically as you, sir."

"Miss Tonks!"

"Old MacGonagall gets pretty scary, when she presses her lips together so hard they almost disappear, and her eyes bug out. But when you get worked up, sir, why, steam comes out of your ears. And when you've got a really good glare, it's even more deadly than the Killing Curse." She pointed up at him. "You're doing it right now!" Glancing over at the boys, she said, "Can't you see the steam?"

Neville would definitely agree that no one could scold like Snape, but he would hardly call it fun.

"Do Hufflepuffs still run a betting pool on how many points Professor Snape will take from each house by the end of term?"

"Um, not that I know of," said Harry.

"That pool was broken up years ago," Snape thundered. "I can assure you, Hufflepuff won by an unprecedented margin."

"Oh, I'm sure they did," said Tonks, totally unfazed. "What a jolly time I had in school. You remember, Professor? You were always taking loads of points off me."

"Indeed, I'm feeling quite nostalgic myself," said Snape. "I would love to take loads of points off you right now, not to mention assign you detention for a month!"

"My mother still comments on how good I am at scrubbing out cauldrons. I owe it all to you, sir."

"What joy it is to learn that you acquired at least one useful skill in your time with me. Now, Miss Tonks, if you don't mind, we have pressing business to attend to."

"Of course, sir. We're ready, aren't we, boys?"

They got to work with the remainder of the preparations. Neville and Harry shot glances at each other, but neither of them said anything, not with Snape present. As fun and exciting as the ritual would be, they would have preferred it if anyone else had been here besides Snape. He could take the fun out of anything. As it was, since he had chastened Tonks, they spent the remainder of the prep time in mere silence.

"Did you hear that?" Tonks said at one point.

"Hear what?" Snape said.  
"I heard noises downstairs. Lupin banging around in the basement, no doubt. Poor fellow. Wish he could be here with us"  
Snape frowned. "You heard him all the way up here? Could he have escaped the basement"  
"Oh, I doubt it. My hearing is exceptionally good. But he must be making such a fuss. I bet he misses us"  
Harry looked up. "Sir, perhaps we ought to go check on him"  
"There's no need, Potter. Lupin is secure, and none of us can be spared. The full moon will be at its zenith soon. It's time to begin the incantation"  
Rolling up her sleeves and pulling her wand out of her pocket, Tonks said, "Right. Let's get to it, then"  
Snape glared at Neville and Harry. "Remember, do not break our concentration. Be standing by with each of the supplies we'll need throughout the ritual. The more smoothly it can proceed, the more powerful the magic"  
It had to have been the hundredth time that night alone that Snape had warned them all about the importance of the ritual. Harry looked ready to throw a tantrum, so Neville hastily spoke first. "Yes, sir. We're ready"  
Tonks and Snape took their places, launching into the opening steps of the ritual. It was impressive to watch the two of them work. This was no school lesson charm. Neville had never really understood the value of turning a hedgehog into a pin cushion. School often seemed like a series of complicated and pointless exercises. Harry's DA lessons had been the most useful thing Neville had ever experienced.  
But watching two adult wizards at work on advanced-level magic was a thing of beauty and power. When he was working, and not terrorizing the people around him, Snape worked efficiently and competently. And Tonks! Now at last Neville could understand why she was an auror. Gone was her clumsiness. She said the incantations and moved through the rituals with fluid grace. He reached into his pocket and felt the smooth wood of his wand - his very own wand - and for the first time thought that it might be possible that one day he, too, would be able to work complicated spells like the two wizards before him.  
As the spell advanced, the level of magic in the room grew, tingling and buzzing like air before an electrical storm. The color of Tonks's hair seemed brighter, the sound of their voices more clear. Neville could feel his heart beating stronger, and he could scarcely contain the thrill of being in the middle of so much magic.  
So enthralled was he that when the door burst open, he couldn't figure out what was happening. A high-pitched voice shrieked, "Get him!" and an impossibly large, furry beast launched itself at Snape, knocking him to the floor. The voice screamed an incantation and Tonks was thrown backwards against the wall. Purely on instinct, Neville drew his wand out, heart pounding in his ears, and at last he realized that he and Harry were pointing their wands at none other than Bellatrix Lestrange.  
She filled the doorway, tattered robes around her, hair in disarray, cackling with laughter. "Surprise!" she shrieked. "Look who I found in my dear auntie's house! You should have invited me to the party"  
Neville glanced over at Tonks who was groggily struggling to rise from where she lay crumpled at the base of the wall.  
"Accio wand!" Bellatrix said, and Tonks's wand flew into her free hand. "Now, wolfie, keep our dear potions master down like a good little pup"  
Horrified, Neville's eyes widened. The enormous gray beast crouching on Snape's chest was Remus! The potions master lay still, face pale as death, eyes squeezed shut. But Neville could tell from his rapid breathing that he was alive and conscious.  
Holding one wand pointed at Harry and Neville, and the other at Tonks, Bellatrix smiled. "What a jolly reunion! I came here to my Aunt Black's house seeking refuge, but imagine my surprise when I found the place occupied"  
"But how could you have found it?" Harry cried. "The house is guarded by the Fidelius charm"  
From his place on the floor, Snape said, "Potter, keep silent"  
Bellatrix's eyes sparkled. "The Fidelius charm? Now, that is interesting. I wonder what you're guarding here? But my dear little Harry, the charm wouldn't keep me out. All I came looking for was my aunt's house, not whatever you're keeping secret. But what joy it is to find my sweet little niece and my two favorite little boys. And down in the basement a werewolf just waiting for me to set him free so he could do my bidding under the Imperius." She smiled wickedly at Remus. "And I know how deathly afraid you are of werewolves, Severus. If you so much as move a muscle, the nice doggie will bite you."

As if in answer, the wolf growled and opened his jaws on Snape's throat. Snape blanched even paler, squeezing his eyes shut once more.

"Harry," Neville whispered, wishing he knew what to do.

"None of that, boys! Why don't you just hand me your wands? That will make everything so much easier."

"Why don't you hand us yours?" Harry retorted.

On the edge of his vision, Neville saw Tonks slowly rise to a crouch. She glanced up at him, eyes intent. If they could keep Bellatrix's attention focused away from Tonks, perhaps she could do something.

"We're not afraid of you!" Neville shouted. Unfortunately the shaking in his voice implied otherwise.

Bellatrix cackled with glee. "Of course you aren't, my dear. Why should you be afraid of your Auntie Bella? I'm going to take you away, and we'll have so much fun with my Lord. He's so fond of the two of you, you know, especially after our fun at the Ministry - ."

"IExpelliarmus/I!" Harry shouted, throwing the spell at her.

But she was just as fast as he was. The word was scarcely out of his mouth before she answered with a counter curse. The spells collided, and Neville felt a hot blast of air stream past his ear.

In that moment of distraction, Tonks sprang to her feet and ran at Bellatrix, but Bellatrix launched a spell at her, and Tonks was once again thrown against the wall. She fell to the ground in a shower of plaster as the wall cracked. Bellatrix uttered another spell, and ropes conjured out of the air and wrapped themselves tightly around the auror's arms and legs.

"Oh, Nymphadora," Bellatrix taunted, "I know you're eager to hug and kiss me, but that will have to wait for later."

She turned back to Harry and Neville. "Now then, boys, why don't you let me in on your little secret? What are you guarding here?"

"We won't tell you!" retorted Harry.

Again, Snape called out, "Potter, keep silent!"

Bellatrix spared him a glance. "Yes, well, Severus darling, I hear that your students never listen to you. Fortunately for me." She turned her piercing gaze on Neville. "Littlebottom, it was so good to see you in Knockturn Alley the other day. Do you know why I'm in London?"

"We know!" Harry shouted. "You killed Dr. Driftwood."

Her eyes cut to Harry. "You heard about that, did you? Yes, I did drop by and see the good doctor." Her attention returned to Neville. "But I'm also planning to pay a visit to your dear parents."

Neville's grip tightened on his wand. "Don't you touch them!"

"Dear boy, I don't have to touch them, do I? The Cruciatus curse will take care of them for me. So many years have gone by, but we can pick up exactly where we left off."

"I won't let you hurt them," Neville warned.

Her thin red lips stretched in a smile. "You can't stop me if it's what I want. But if you can offer me something in exchange, perhaps I'll be persuaded to leave them alone. Tell me what you're guarding here."

"We won't tell you!" Harry shouted.

"Oh, I think you will," she simpered. "You're just too easy to manipulate. You played right into my Lord's hands before. The only question is, who should I threaten first? Another of my cousins?" She pointed one wand toward Tonks. "Or your little schoolmate?" The other wand aimed at Neville.

"You won't harm either of them!" Harry shouted. "I'll kill you first."

Neville saw Harry's knuckles whiten as he gripped his wand, saw his mouth grow hard, and he knew Harry would attack. Out of the corner of his eye he glanced at Tonks. She lay still as death on the floor, eyes closed, but her forearms were lengthening, growing thin. She would slip out of the ropes and break free soon.

With a shout, Harry threw another spell at Bellatrix, and she blocked it, both wands pointing at him. She burst through his spell and hit him in the chest. He let out a pained "oof" and fell backward, his glasses flying off.

"Or," said Bellatrix, smiling, "I can skip the others and go right to you." She raised her wand again, preparing to strike.

And in that moment, Neville at last understood. The more he and Harry resisted her, the harder she would fight, and they couldn't possibly win against her. But fighting Iwasn't/I the only response. Sometimes you had to be willing to lose, to sacrifice, as his parents had sacrificed themselves for him, as Harry's parents and his godfather had done for Harry. Neville couldn't save anyone, but he could protect them by offering himself, surrendering to her malevolent will and distracting her long enough so that someone stronger like Tonks could take her chance. He spared a quick glance at Tonks, meeting her half-open eyes, and threw himself in front of Harry just as Bellatrix shrieked, "Crucio!"

Pain speared through his chest, racing along his nerves and bubbling under his skin. He rolled onto the floor, unable to control his limbs as wave after wave of pain washed over him. He tried not to fight it, but it was hard to keep from bracing himself against it, to keep from wanting to lash out at her and make it stop.

Abruptly the pain lifted, and he lay panting for breath on the floor. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard Harry scream, "Neville!"

"Do you want to help him, boy?" Bellatrix cackled. "Then tell me what I want to know! Spare him this pain!"

Neville looked at Harry's eyes, wide with terror at losing someone he loved, and for a moment he saw another frightened face before him. His mother's eyes, her terror, as she shoved him into the cupboard before turning to fight Bellatrix. I"I'm doomed, aren't I?"/I she'd said in that vision in the pensieve. And indeed she had been. I"It's too hard!"/I Harry had said when he'd heard about his mother's theory. Too much anger to surrender, too much rage not to fight. Like a raging flood, it was too hard.

But it could be soft, as soft as water.

His mother's words came back to him, but not from the pensieve, not even from his nightmare, but from that odd daydream charm.

IDon't fight the curse. You must be soft as water, hard as the raging flood./I

Neville smiled at Harry. "It's all right," he whispered.

"NO!" Harry shook his head wildly, as Bellatrix once more shouted, "Crucio!"

As the pain coursed through him, he held on to the thought of his parents, suffering to protect him. He could feel their love filling him. Nothing could touch that love. Nothing could harm it. He surrendered to it, surrendered also to the pain of the curse, surrendered to his fears and doubts and hopes, letting himself be carried away like a leaf caught in a torrent, like a reed bending in the wind. It lifted him up, rising heavenward like a flame, like warm fire on a winter's night. He opened himself to that warmth, opened his arms to receive it, opened his hands, released his wand, let it fall from his relaxed fingers.

"Accio wand!" Tonks cried out.

Suddenly the flood, the wind, the fire surrounding him ceased. His vision cleared and he saw Tonks, holding his wand, launch a spell at Bellatrix, who met her attack with a hex of her own. Spells flew back and forth between them, scorching the walls, cracking against the ceiling, and making Neville's skin tingle.

An arm wrapped around his chest. It was Harry pulling him close, hovering over him, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Neville! Oh my God, Neville, are you all right? Please, say you're all right!"

"I'm fine, Harry." And he was. His nerves tingled, as if he had lightning in his veins, but he wasn't hurt.

"We have to get out of here," Harry pulled Neville up, but they couldn't escape. Bellatrix was still blocking the door. Crouched on the floor, leaning on each other for support, they watched as Tonks and Bellatrix dueled. A few of the spells began to penetrate their defenses. A blue light hit Tonks's leg, and it crumpled beneath her, though she never slowed the pace of her hexes. Tonks was good, but she was going to lose.

Neville glanced over toward Snape. The potions master still lay on the floor, but his lips were moving. He was speaking to the werewolf, his hand on the great beast's shoulder. Remus no longer had his jaws on Snape's neck, and as Neville watched, Remus suddenly raised his head, baring his teeth, and charged at Bellatrix.

She shrieked as he slammed into her, knocking her against the wall. Her scream turned liquid and bubbly as the wolf tore at her neck, his sharp claws ripping at her flesh. Neville stared in horror as blood sprayed against the wall, drenching the wolf's muzzle as Bellatrix collapsed to the floor. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

Suddenly Snape appeared at Neville's side, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. "Out! Now!" the potions master hissed.

Tonks was next to Harry, dragging him up, and the four of them dashed for the door, skirting around the wolf and Bellatrix, her arms and legs flailing uselessly beneath the wolf's assault. As they left the room, Tonks called her wand and Harry's glasses to her just as Snape slammed the door shut.

They stood panting in the hall, stunned. "Is everyone all right?" Snape asked.

Shaky nods from Harry and Neville. Tonks coughed and spat a gob of blood on the floor. Wiping her mouth with the back of her trembling hand she wheezed, "What happened in there? How'd you get Lupin to turn on her?"

"Under normal circumstances, a spell like Imperius wouldn't work on a werewolf. But under the wolfsbane it appears he was somewhat susceptible. I used Legilimency to penetrate his mind, and it was relatively simple to throw the curse off and encourage him to attack Lestrange instead."

"Wow," breathed Tonks.

Somehow, that didn't seem to Neville to be quite the right reaction, but he didn't know what else might be. For a moment, they all stood listening to the snarls behind the door. Bellatrix wasn't screaming anymore. Suddenly Neville felt cold. The warmth he'd felt from the Cruciatus curse evaporated as he realized what was happening to her behind that door. He began to shiver, and he couldn't seem to stop. He held on to Harry's arm, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

Snape took a deep breath and looked to Tonks. "Get the boys out of the house. Wait for me in the alley. I'll be along shortly."

Tonks frowned. "What are you going to do?"

He swallowed hard, eyes shooting to the door. "I can't leave him in there."

"But she must be dead by now. She can't hurt him."

"IShe/I is not the one I'm concerned about," answered Snape.

Neville didn't understand. He glanced at Harry, whose eyes were wide behind his glasses.

Tonks shuddered. "Right then. You be careful, Professor."

Snape merely straightened his shoulders and raised his chin and Neville and Harry followed Tonks down the stairs and out of the house.

Snape waited until he heard the front door open and close. It occurred to him that the others might be foolish enough to only pretend to leave the house out of some misguided concept of bravery. But he couldn't waste any time checking. If he learned later that they had disobeyed him, then he'd put them all under Cruciatus and take his chance with the Ministry. Surely sometimes even an Unforgivable was justified.

Holding his wand in his right hand, he reached for the doorknob with his left. The solid reality of the doorknob in his hand sent a jolt of panic through him. He remembered hot breath on his neck, sharp teeth pressing against his skin, and that enormous, monstrous face hovering over him - the face of his nightmares. For a moment he contemplated leaving Lupin to his animal nature, the living incarnation of everything dangerous and bestial that Snape had always known was the man's true identity. But he couldn't. That bestial nature had saved them all, destroying a true monster. He could not abandon Lupin now, not when he knew what this night would cost the man. Gritting his teeth together so they wouldn't chatter, he threw open the door.

The sight that greeted him was even more gruesome than he had imagined. Bellatrix Lestrange lay sprawled on the floor, limbs askew, head canted at an awkward angle. Blood pooled beneath her. The beast did not look up at Snape's arrival. It crouched over Bellatrix, paws slipping in the blood, its teeth tugging at her flesh. It had already started to devour her and seemed quite focused on that task. Snape would have to lure it away.

With a shout, he threw a hex at the beast. The spell wouldn't harm the werewolf, but it stung as it hit the beast's rump. The werewolf jumped and barked in surprise, turning to glare at Snape, its jaws dripping with gore. Snape took a step back, but the werewolf merely growled at him and turned back to its meal.

"Damn you, Lupin," he muttered. "I always thought you wanted a chance at me. Don't prove me wrong now." He threw two more hexes, and the werewolf turned on him, snarling. It dashed toward him, and Snape stumbled backward, almost tripping over his own feet as he fled into the hall. But the beast did not follow him all the way. It crouched in the doorway, teeth bared as it growled at him. The monster seemed intent on guarding its meal. Blood dripped from its jaws, and a string of torn flesh dangled from between its teeth.

Snape backed away, knees knocking, barely able to keep his grip on the wand. Again he considered abandoning Lupin to his fate. Twenty years ago he had almost become a meal to this monster. What did he owe Lupin?

But things had changed over the last few months. He didn't like to admit it, but he couldn't quite see Lupin as a beast anymore. The man tried so hard to control his lycanthropy, and Snape knew that he would deeply regret attacking Bellatrix. Lupin was simply not a killer.

"Come on, you foul creature," Snape muttered. He lowered his wand arm and took a step closer, trying to goad the beast into attacking him. The wolf growled at his approach. "Come on," he said again, louder this time, throwing all his disdain into it. "Come on, you animal! Don't just stand there! Or are you too stupid to attack?" He stepped closer, and the beast crouched on its haunches and leapt at him, howling.

Snape threw himself to the side, rolling out of the beast's path and cast a spell at the door, slamming it shut. He looked up and saw the wolf skitter as it turned, claws scrabbling on the carpet. The enormous beast bore down on him, and he could feel its breath on his ankles as he disapparated with a loud crack, reappearing at the front door downstairs.

He scrambled to his feet, lungs heaving as his heart pounded fiercely in his chest. Overhead he could hear the wolf howling in outrage, wondering where its prey had fled. Snape didn't hesitate any longer. He threw open the front door and ran out into the night. Slamming the door shut, he spelled it closed so that only he could open it again, lest any members of the Order turn up unexpectedly during the night. The task complete, his knees buckled beneath him, and he clung to the railing, slowly feeling his way down the stairs.

"Professor?" a voice called out.

Tonks, Potter, and Longbottom appeared from around the corner of the house, their faces white in the moonlight. The fear in their eyes was a pale reflection of the terror that suddenly pounded through him, and with scarcely a thought for how ridiculous he must look, he stumbled to his knees and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the pavement. 


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty

Neville could scarcely remember the rest of that night. He didn't have any idea how they had arrived at Tonks's small flat. She gave her bed to Harry and Neville, and they obediently lay down, kicking off their shoes. But neither of them fell asleep for a long time. Harry had kept a tight grip on Neville's arm ever since they had left the laboratory, and he only finally let go when they lay down. The blood rushing back into Neville's arm made his fingers tingle. He hadn't realized Harry had been hanging on to him so tightly.

They lay side by side in the dark, listening to the voices outside their door. Neville had briefly wondered where the others would sleep, but it soon became clear that the adults would take no rest that night. He heard Snape's bass voice and Tonks's soft alto murmuring, though he couldn't make out the words. Dumbledore soon joined them, and others as well. Neville recognized Moody and Shacklebolt, and there were others that he didn't know. He was grateful for the voices. They reassured him that he was safe.

Images tumbled through his mind. Bellatrix cackling with laughter, Tonks lying crumpled on the floor, Snape in the jaws of the werewolf. He saw spells flying about, Harry's white knuckles as he gripped his wand. Bellatrix pointing her wand at him, pain tearing through his muscles. The beast leaping upon her, blood spraying the wall. And perhaps most upsetting of all. Snape emerging from the house pale and trembling, falling to his knees and throwing up. What could have made Snape so ill? He didn't even want to think about it. He wished he'd never seen the werewolf. He couldn't bear the thought that such a frightening monster was Remus Lupin during the rest of the month. When he'd fantasized about killing Bellatrix, it had always been at the tip of a wand, not by having teeth - Remus's teeth - ripping into her neck.

But even the worst events of the night were suffused with a kind of warmth, that amazing, powerful warmth that had filled him when he had transcended the Cruciatus curse. He'd done it: he'd followed his mother's advice, proved her theory, accomplished what even she had not been capable of. Strangely, that thought was not comforting. He didn't want to do better than his parents. Somehow, his success only underscored their failure.

He shuddered and forced himself not to think about that. Instead he thought about Bellatrix. She was dead at last, and he and Harry were safe, and there were aurors in the living room. No need to tremble anymore. No need to be afraid.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes, light was streaming through the window. He shifted to a more comfortable position and closed his eyes again when a voice interrupted.

"Longbottom, Potter, wake up."

Startled, Neville shot upright and blinked to see Professor Snape standing at the foot of the bed. Confused, he looked around him at the strange room, while Harry stirred next to him.

"It's early, but we must return to the house," Snape continued, scowling impatiently. "Quickly!"

Professor Snape was a sight no one should have to encounter first thing in the morning, Neville reflected as he rolled off the mattress and searched for his shoes.

Harry sat up and felt for his glasses on the bedstand. "Sir, wouldn't it be safer for us to stay here?"

"Miss Tonks's flat is not secure, and she must report to work. You cannot be left here alone."

"Are they decent?" another voice pitched in, far too cheerily. Tonks's bright eyes peeped over Snape's shoulder. "Sorry, gents, you can't stay. What would my landlady say if she knew I had three men in here last night?"

The boys stumbled about, sorting out their shoes. Still half asleep, Neville tried to fit his left foot into his right shoe. All the while, Snape stood at the door, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Care for a bite of toast?" Tonks offered.

"We haven't the time," said Snape.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, which only made it stand up more. "Why so hasty? Bellatrix is dead, isn't she?"

"We must check on Lupin." Snape's dark eyes gleamed with an unidentifiable emotion. "You must not mention the events of last night to anyone, do you understand? The Headmaster decided that it is better to keep Bellatrix Lestrange's death a secret. But more to the point, you must tell no one of Lupin's role."

"Why?" Harry protested. "He saved our lives. He's a hero!"

"Potter, do you pay no attention to current events? The penalty for a lycanthrope who kills is death. Do you really want to trust the mercy of the Ministry to spare Lupin?"

Harry shot an alarmed glance at Neville, who swallowed hard and shivered.

"If you care about Lupin at all," Snape continued, "you will say nothing to anyone, even your little friends. Remember, it's Lupin's life you would risk."

Straightening his shoulders, Harry met Snape's gaze. "I won't say anything, sir."

"Nor me, sir," Neville added.

"Then if you are ready, let's leave at once."

Tonks bid them farewell, and they took a taxi to Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore was waiting for them on the steps of the house.

"I just arrived, myself," he said. "Boys, absolute discretion is needed."

"I've already told them," Snape said.

Dumbledore nodded. "Good. First thing we must do is find Lupin. We'll split up. Harry, come with me to search the lower floors. Neville, accompany Professor Snape."

Nods all around. The situation was too serious for anyone to complain about the assignments. Dumbledore opened the door, and they entered the hallway.

The house was deathly silent. Neville shivered, as if he were cold. Dumbledore nodded to Snape, then headed down the main hall, Harry following closely. Snape and Neville went upstairs.

All the doors on the first floor were still closed, so they headed up another flight to the floor where the laboratory was. As their heads rose above floor level, they saw a pale figure lying in the shadows at the far end of the hall.

Remus.

Snape hastened toward him, his billowing cloak obscuring Neville's view, but halfway down the hall he stopped, throwing out a hand to keep Neville back. "Don't look," he warned.

"What is it?"

"He's injured."

"But - I thought you said she was dead. Did she hurt him?"

Snape removed his robe, trying to keep Neville back. "He did this to himself."

Snape approached Remus, throwing out his cloak to cover him. As the cloak settled around him, Neville caught a glimpse of naked flesh, ripped and bleeding. It looked as if Remus had been mauled. Panic clawed at Neville's throat, and he gasped, "She must have done this!"

"No, Longbottom," the potions master snapped. "Now fetch Dumbledore like I told you. We need to get him to St. Mungo's."

Neville stumbled backwards, then turned and ran to the stairs. "Sir! Sir! We found him. He's up here!"

Below in the hallway, the portrait of Mrs. Black roused to life and started screeching. Within moments, Dumbledore and Harry were running up the stairs. Neville caught at Harry's arm as he dashed past, holding him back. The two of them stood in the hallway, clutching at each other as Dumbledore and Snape knelt next to Remus.

"We can't call the Emergency Medical Wizards," Snape said. "The house is hidden."

Dumbledore nodded. "Carry him downstairs. Outside you can apparate with him to St. Mungo's. I'll follow with the boys. Insist on Emmeline Vance treating him. She'll be discreet."

Carefully they arranged Remus in Snape's arms. Even with the cloak draped around him, they could still see claw marks on his face and neck, blood clotted around the wounds.

Remus moaned slightly when Snape stood up. The boys clung together, watching as Snape passed them in the hall and started downstairs, Dumbledore on his heels.

Once outside the house, Snape disapparated with a loud crack. Dumbledore flagged down a taxi, and the three of them climbed inside.

Neville glanced at the back of the cabbie's head, then looked up at Dumbledore. "But sir, what about the Muggles?"

Harry kicked him in the shins, but Dumbledore smiled. "I do have a few tricks up my sleeve." The headmaster winked, and suddenly he appeared to be wearing an old-fashioned tweed suit, a bowler had perched o his head. Neville blinked in surprise, and Dumbledore appeared once more in his customary robe.

"Wow!" Neville exclaimed.

"But sir," Harry said, "is Remus going to be all right?"

"I'm sure he will recover. Our Mr. Lupin has a very hearty constitution."

"But what happened to him? Was it Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"I think not. Professor Snape said she was dead by the time he got Lupin out of the room."

"But he'd taken the wolfsbane," Harry said. "He shouldn't have hurt himself!"

"Wolfsbane does not cancel out all of a werewolf's nature," said Dumbledore his expression sad. "I'm afraid we'll have to wait for Lupin to tell us what happened."

They rode in silence the rest of the way to St. Mungo's. There they found Snape waiting in the lobby. Neville's gaze was drawn to several red stains on the potion master's cuffs. He shuddered.

"They are tending to him," Snape said without preamble. "When the hospital learned he was a werewolf, they seemed disinclined to ask any further questions."

"In this case, we should be thankful for the prejudice," answered Dumbledore.

Snape glanced at Neville and Harry. "And what about the boys?"

"Minerva has been notified. She will come by and take them back to the house."

Harry protested, "But we want to stay and find out about Remus!"

Snape glared, but Dumbledore said, "There really is nothing any of us can do right now, Harry. You can wait there just as easily as here."

"But - but - we could stay here and visit Neville's parents." Harry turned to him. "Don't you want to see them?"

But Neville had noticed several dark splotches on Snape's coat, and a red smudge on his cheek. He couldn't tear his eyes away from that red smudge. It seemed to fill his vision, making his head swim. "I-I d-don't," he said faintly. "I think - ." He faltered to a stop. There'd been so much blood, spraying the wall from Bellatrix's neck, pooling on the floor beneath Remus. Tonks spitting blood on the pavement. And now Snape, covered in it. Neville lifted his hand to scrub at his own cheek. "It's - it's on you, sir," he mumbled.

Snape's dark brows drew together in alarm. "He's going to faint!" He reached out toward Neville, but Neville saw the blood on his hands and flinched backward. Harry caught him, and he felt the floor tilt beneath his feet.

Everything seemed to fade a bit, and when he regained his senses, he was sitting bent over in a chair, his head between his knees, while Harry sat next to him, rubbing his back. Neville moaned a little, and Harry asked, "Are you feeling better?"

Neville nodded and slowly sat up.

Dumbledore was seated on his other side, and he patted Neville's knee. "Nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Longbottom. You've had a rough night."

Taking long, steadying breaths, Neville looked up and saw Snape standing nearby. Hastily averting his gaze so as not to see the stains again, Neville pointed to Snape. "You have - sir, there's some - ."

Snape looked down at his hands, his face growing pale when he saw the blood. "I'll go wash up," he said, and hastily walked off.

Harry's hand was still on his back, which felt very nice. He took another breath. "I think I'd just as soon go home, myself."

For once, Harry didn't argue.

When Snape returned, mercifully without bloodstains, he and Dumbledore sat in a corner talking quietly together. Neville still felt shaky, and the lack of sleep made his eyelids heavy. He drooped, finally resting his head on Harry's shoulder.

He remembered when he was still small, when Granddad was still alive, and he would sit on Granddad's bony knees, his cheek scratched by Granddad's whiskers. Or when he would have a bad dream, and Gran would sit on his bed and gather him in her arms and stroke his hair, her breath smelling of her evening glass of sherry. It wasn't fair: there were still bad things out there in the night, monsters even worse that what he used to dream about, but he was supposedly too old to be cuddled. Sitting close to Harry, though, felt comforting, and if they looked strange sitting together like that, well, he didn't really care.

McGonagall showed up before long to escort them back to Grimmauld Place. She was her typical stern self, lips pressed together so tightly her mouth was nothing but a thin line. She spoke briefly with Dumbledore and Snape, sparing scarcely a word for the two boys, for which Neville was grateful. He didn't know what he would have said to her. Neither he nor Harry spoke a word on the trip back to Grimmauld Place.

When the arrived at the house, McGonagall cast a wary glance upstairs, then said, "You two gentlemen ought to get some rest. You had a trying night, and I have work to do."

Neville wondered if she meant cleaning the laboratory of what was left of Bellatrix Lestrange, and he swallowed hard against a sudden rise of bile in his throat.

"Would you care for some lunch first?" she asked.

Not anymore, Neville thought, but he merely shook his head.

"No, thank you," said Harry politely. He dug his fingers into Neville's shirt sleeve and tugged him toward the stairs. Neville docilely followed, and when they reached his room, Harry opened the door and led Neville inside, closing the door tightly behind them.

The room was still as gloomy and dismal as ever, the dusty bed curtains lit by what dim light could penetrate the shielded windows. But the place held the comfort of familiarity - a familiarity that felt a bit surreal after everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. How could normal feel so strange?

Neville turned to see Harry studying him, his glasses palely reflecting the light. "Are you sure you're all right?" Harry asked.

Remembering how he had almost fainted, Neville blushed in embarrassment. "Yeah. Really it was nothing. I saw blood on Snape's robe, and I guess it kind of freaked me out a bit."

"No, I mean after last night." Harry hesitated, licking his lips. "What - She - did to you."

"Oh." He wasn't sure that he wanted to talk about what had happened. It felt like bragging. But at the same time, how could he keep it to himself? "You know that theory of my mother's, about not resisting the curse? I did it. It worked."

For several moments, Harry just sat there, blinking at him from behind his glasses. "You mean - you weren't hurt?"

"It did hurt at first, but then I just sort of...floated on top of it." He shrugged. "It felt warm."

Harry expelled a sharp breath, running his hands over his face. Then he grabbed Neville's arm again and tugged him over to the bed, where he climbed on top of the covers, toeing off his shoes and kicking them over the side. He removed his glasses and lay down, scooting back across the mattress as Neville slowly followed suit.

They lay side by side on top of the covers, neither speaking, nor falling asleep. As exhausted as he was, Neville felt too heart-weary to sleep. He stared up into the gloom of the canopy above them, wishing he was back home in his own bed, with Gran sitting in the parlor arguing with the pixie that she swore lived in the china cabinet.

"It's a bit much, isn't it?" Harry said quietly. "I mean, Her showing up." His voice sounded thin in the stillness of the room. "And what happened to Remus, and to you. I thought she was going to kill you."

Neville didn't really have anything to say to that, as he'd thought she was going to kill him, too.

Harry continued, his voice growing unsteady. "If you had - if she'd - I couldn't bear it. I don't want anyone else to die."

There was a sniffle. Neville turned his head a bit and saw a teardrop shining at the corner of Harry's eye, saw his chest hitch unevenly. It was enough to release his own pent-up emotions. Sympathetic tears stung in his eyes. Harry shook from silent weeping, and Neville took it all in, absorbing all that pain and fear. He had enough of his own, but he didn't try to hold it at bay. Instead, he opened himself up to it, the way he had with the Cruciatus curse. He drew the pain into his body with long, deep breaths, feeling it reach down into the darkest parts of him, and then blowing it out with each exhalation. Grief ebbed and flowed through him as his lungs filled and emptied. It hurt going in and out, but somehow it was bearable. He lay there absorbing Harry's pain, wanting to cry from it, but he didn't. It wasn't an effort of will. It was what needed to be done: he had to be strong for Harry, a cup that could hold the overflow. And he realized that was the secret to defeating the Cruciatus curse, to defeating all pain. He hadn't surpassed his mother. This was her gift to him. It was what all mothers did: hold their children, absorb the grief into their skin, let their hearts be broken from it and then mended again by their love.

After a while, Harry whispered, "Sirius is dead."

"I know," said Neville. "But now She is, too."

"But it didn't bring him back."

"No."

"They don't come back, do they?"

Neville didn't answer. There was nothing really to say.

"It's my fault," Harry continued. "Snape was trying to teach me, but I wouldn't work at it. I didn't want to. I did exactly what Voldemort wanted. If I'd only listened to Snape, if I'd done what he said..." He sighed. "He's still a bastard, but I guess he's on our side, isn't he? He helped your parents. I can't keep blaming other people. If I do, then more people will die." There was a quiet sniff.. "I don't want anyone to die."

"Me, neither," said Neville. "But Harry, if I did die, I would want it to be while I was protecting the people I love. Like my parents did for me. And your parents. And Sirius. That's what I would want it to be for."

"Yeah." Harry's voice was so small, the word was little more than a breath. "That's what I would want, too." 


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-one

When they woke, the dim light had faded considerably. They searched for their shoes, ran their fingers through their hair, and headed downstairs where they found Tonks seated in the kitchen, poking a spoon at a bowl of cauldron noodles. She looked up when they entered, her face sporting a rainbow of bruises.

"Your hair's gone all white!" Neville exclaimed, shocked by the sight of her snow-white curls.

"Nah," she shrugged. "I just couldn't find a color that didn't clash with my bruises. But white draws them out quite nicely, don't you think?" She fluffed her hair and preened as if her injuries were a fashion statement. Neville laughed at her light-heartedness, and even Harry cracked a smile.

"Pull up a chair and make yourselves comfortable," she invited. Giving her wand a flick, she summoned two bowls of cauldron noodles to the table. They jostled and banged into each other before settling down. She sent another spell at the tea kettle, and it poured hot water into the bowls, sloshing quite a bit onto the table.

"Looks delicious," Harry said, grabbing a spoon and digging into the soup.

Tonks grinned. "Slaved all day over a hot stove!"

Neville hadn't thought he was very hungry, but his stomach rumbled at the savory smell rising from the bowl, and he slurped the noodles up with relish.

Tonks fetched a couple of butterbeers from the ice box and set them down before the boys. Picking up her spoon again, she asked, "How's Lupin doing? McGonagall couldn't tell me much before she went back to Hogwarts. She just said you found him in a really bad way."

Again Neville saw that bright red smear on Snape's pale cheek, and he looked into his bowl of soup as Harry answered, "He was in bad shape, but they say he'll be all right."

"Poor bastard," she said. "Here he is, a hero, and not only do we have to keep mum about it, but he goes and rips himself to shreds over it." She sighed, idly stirring her soup. "She deserved what she got."

"Yeah," Harry agreed.

"I know it wrecked up the laboratory," Tonks continued, "but I'm glad she's dead, even if she was my aunt."

"Me, too," said Harry.

"And you two blokes - holding her off like that. That's Gryffindor spirit! You two should be inducted as aurors right this minute! Who needs training?"

Harry shied away at the praise and concentrated on his soup, but Neville was distracted by a new thought. "So what will happen with the laboratory now? I mean, it's still the full moon, isn't it?"

Tonks scratched at her nose, pondering. "I don't know. I think Snape's standing guard over Lupin tonight to make sure he'll be all right. McGonagall didn't say anything about it, other than that she'd cleaned up the mess. I guess we'll have to wait until next month."

"But we don't have to," said Neville. "Harry and me know all the spells. We've been drilling it for ages. We could help you."

Harry glanced up at him, his eyes bright with interest, and Tonks cocked her head to one side. "I don't know. No offense, but two kids?"

"But Harry's really powerful," said Neville.

Harry piped up, "And Neville's nothing to sneeze at. He's got a new wand. We both know the spells."

"Well..." She glanced overhead, as if looking through two floors to the laboratory above them. A grin flashed over her face, making her bruises dance. "I like the way you boys think: tenacious, like good Hufflepuffs. Never surrender!" She bared her teeth at them. "All right, let's do it!"

They hastily finished their soup and butterbeers, their spirits lifted by the plan. After everything had gone so horribly wrong, it was encouraging to think they still might be able to salvage the laboratory.

After dinner, they trooped upstairs. Neville felt a twinge of panic as Tonks pushed open the door to the laboratory, but the gas lamps flared to life, revealing no trace of the previous night's trauma. Everything was spic and span, the walls and floor clean, all the ingredients and supplies neatly arranged on their shelves. It looked so eerily the way it had the previous night that for a moment, Neville had a horrible sense of déjà vu, as if Bellatrix Lestrange would burst through the door all over again.

"Wotcher, Neville," said Tonks, breaking through his morbid thoughts. "All right there?"

He blinked to clear his mind. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Good." She clapped her hands, rubbing them together. "Well, let's get set up, shall we?"

They fetched the supplies they would need, laying everything out in preparation. The scroll on which they had taken notes was still there, and Neville read through the list out loud as Tonks and Harry double-checked each item.

When everything was prepared, Tonks dusted her hands together and pulled out her wand. "All right. I've reviewed the procedure, and with Snape gone, we'll have to divide up the duties differently. I'll do the incantations and oversee everything. Harry, we know you can handle a wand, so you do the charmwork, and Neville, with your green thumb, you'll handle the herbs and potion work."

Neville's heart skipped a beat, and he could feel sweat break out all over his body. "Me? But - but - I thought I could just, you know, sort of hand you everything when you need it."

Tonks shook her head. "No. None of us can take on Snape's role by ourselves. We all need to do our part."

All his old insecurities flooded over him. He knew by now that he could handle being a sidekick, but there was no way he could be a major player. "I always mess things up. Ask anyone, they'll -"

"Neville." Harry stood before him, his voice surprisingly gentle. The kindness of it caught Neville's attention. Those green eyes gazed steadily at him, and Harry smiled. "Neville," he said again. "When was the last time you messed things up? Because I can't remember. Was it last night when you risked your life to protect me and give Tonks the chance to recover? Or was it when you figured out something was wrong with your parents ad finally got Driftwood sacked? Or maybe you're talking about when we did the purification spell, and you did everything perfectly, and even fought off the evil spirits? Or at the Ministry, when you were the only one left standing with me, and you attacked MacNair." Harry smiled again. "That doesn't sound like someone who messes things up. That sounds like a powerful wizard to me."

The way Harry described it, it did sound like a powerful wizard. But it was still hard for Neville to believe Harry was actually talking about him. He'd done so little in his life that was praiseworthy. "But I'm not special, Harry. Not like you."

"Yes, you are." Harry laid a hand on Neville's shoulder. "You're Frank and Alice Longbottom's son. That's very special."

A warm feeling spread throughout Neville's body, starting in his heart and moving out to the very tips of his fingers and toes. He was Frank and Alice Longbottom's son. Yes, that was indeed special. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. "All right. Let's do it."

As the moon approached its zenith, they began to work. All that drilling Snape had forced on them paid off. Neville knew every step of the procedure, how all the parts fit together. Each of them had a different role to play, but they worked with such unity that it was as if only one wizard with the power of three was working. Neville could feel his magic intertwine with that of Harry and Tonks, feeding off them and giving in return, making them all stronger. As it had the previous night, the magic sang and hummed with vitality, only this time he wasn't a mere spectator. He was part of it, making it happen. That harmony and ease that he had so envied was now his. The wand in his hand - his own wand - felt like a part of his body, an extension of his very soul. This was what wandwork was supposed to be like, a conduit for his own unique brand of magic. He was powerful. And it wasn't hard at all.

The time flew by, each stage of the spellwork playing out in its time. At last Tonks uttered the final incantation to seal the magic to the room. Her voice fell silent and she lowered her wand. The three of them stood still, attention focused on the power that now glimmered in the room, focused, ready to be harnessed for the creation of new magic. Neville's skin tingled from the potential.

Tonks smiled at Neville and Harry. "Good job, boys. Congratulations. I daresay even old Snape will be impressed."

Harry grinned back. "Thanks. I bet he will be, too."

"And I'm not even tired," Neville exclaimed. "Not in the least bit!"

"Oh, just wait about five minutes," Tonks assured him as she put her wand away. "You'll crash and sleep like the dead. Let's head out. We can leave the clean-up for tomorrow."

Closing up the room, they headed downstairs, saying good-night to Tonks. By the time he arrived at his room, Neville was already yawning. But even as fatigue stole over him, he still felt the thrill of that powerful magic. As he opened the door, he said to Harry, "That was awesome. I guess that must be what it's like to be you."

Harry shook his head. "Don't be me, Neville. Be yourself. That's the way I like you." Flashing a shy smile, he entered his room, shutting the door behind him.

Yawning so widely he thought he'd unhinge his jaw, Neville retired to his room. He got tangled up in his clothes as he undressed, and finally crawled wearily into bed, quickly losing the battle to keep his eyes open. As he drifted off to sleep, his lips twisted into a smile. Right now, being Neville felt pretty good. 


	33. Chapter 33

Over the remainder of the full moon period. Snape stayed near St. Mungo's. After all, he was something of an expert on the wolfsbane potion, and on lycanthropy in general, not to mention this lycanthrope in particular. He stayed both nights at St. Mungo's so he could monitor Lupin and advise the mediwizards. He also needed to be on hand to consult with Dumbledore about the matter of Bellatrix Lestrange. So he had ample excuse to hover in Lupin's vicinity without giving people the impression that he was actually worried about the man.

But he was worried, and his worry worried him. Lupin was an irritant, a burden around his neck, always turning to Snape for help - with Black, with those infernal boys, with the wolfsbane potion. (Of course the man had never directly asked for it; he had Dumbledore do it for him.) He didn't want anyone, especially Lupin, to get some kind of ridiculous notion in his mind that Snape actually cared. Because he didn't.

So when he hovered near the containment room as Lupin went through two more changes, it was only because he needed to be on hand if the hospital staff required his assistance. The nights were indeed hard on Lupin. The wolf was crazed and did further harm to himself. Sedatives were not effective on werewolves, and the wolfsbane potion did not seem to be working as well on Lupin as normal. Snape suspected that the stress not only of the previous night, but also since Black's death, was contributing to the wolf's problems, though he was careful to emphasize the latter so as to distract the mediwizards from inquiring why Lupin seemed bent on tearing himself to shreds. Snape went on at length about how unbalanced Lupin had become since Black's death, given to deep depression and bouts of hysterical crying. He relished the chance to paint Lupin in the most lurid of terms, until the mediwizards began to wonder whether they ought to have Lupin committed to the mental ward. Snape had to backpedal and assure them that Lupin would be all right once the full moon passed. Meanwhile he pretended to take copious notes so he could make suitable adjustments to the wolfsbane, as if that were the source of Lupin's problem.

For his part, Lupin seemed to be playing to Snape's excessive description of him. He slept most of the days, but when he woke, he neither spoke nor ate. Normally lycanthropes ate ravenously during the full moon period, and the mediwizards became extremely concerned. Without nourishment, Lupin's health was rapidly declining.

A parade of visitors, carefully screened by Dumbledore, passed through Lupin's room expressing concern and support, but the werewolf spoke to none of them. Snape stayed in the hall, standing guard. Let others fawn over Lupin. Snape certainly did not care. When visitors commented that he seemed worried, he simply said, "Of course I'm worried. If Lupin dies, Dumbledore might saddle me with the babysitting duties." His remarks resulted in many satisfactory grumblings about 'how could he be so insensitive' and 'Poor Lupin, Snape always did hate him' and so on.

But he suspected that Dumbledore was not convinced by the act, and on the fourth day when Lupin still refused to eat, the Headmaster paused to talk to Snape after consulting with the mediwizards. "His condition is getting worse. If he doesn't eat by evening they will attempt to force feed him. But there is some concern that he might fight it, and with his injuries..." The old man stroked his beard, his eyes pale with sadness.

"Can't you talk some sense into him?" said Snape.

"I have certainly tried. But he pretends to be asleep. I'm not sure he's heard a word I've said to him."

Silently cursing Lupin's stubbornness, Snape said, "Isn't there someone else who can talk to him?"

"Who? Minerva tried scolding him. Molly petted him. I'm starting to wonder if we ought to let Harry have a go."

"That would not be wise. Potter will no doubt become hysterical if he sees Lupin in this state."

"That is my concern as well. But I don't know who else Remus might listen to." Dumbledore peered at Snape over the rim of his glasses, wearing that 'I really hate to bother you, but' expression that Snape loathed with every ounce of his being. "Severus, I wonder if you would be willing to try? You have a certain...way with words. And I've noticed that in the last few months Remus seems to have come to trust you in a way he doesn't trust many others."

"That's ridiculous," Snape protested in his own defense.

"Perhaps. But it is worth a try."

Snape made a great show of rolling his eyes and sighing with a persecuted air.

Dumbledore beamed at him. "Thank you, Severus. Just do your best."

"I'll get him eating. I certainly have plenty of experience dealing with melancholic students."

Dumbledore patted his shoulder. "That's the spirit, my boy. I have confidence in you."

Releasing another great sigh for good measure, Snape pushed open the door and entered Lupin's room. The man was lying still in bed, apparently asleep. Snape stood over him and barked, "Lupin, wake up!"

The eyelids fluttered, but there was no other movement.

Pulling out his wand, Snape tapped on the tray next to Lupin's bed and ordered, "Chicken soup. And a pot of tea." When the items appeared on the tray, Snape pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and said, "Enough of this melodrama, Lupin. You will eat."

Still nothing.

He stirred the soup. "I'll grant you that eating Bellatrix Lestrange would destroy anyone's appetite, but I'm sure this soup will clear your palate."

At last, success. Lupin opened his eyes and glared at Snape with a ferocity that rivaled the fiercest of the Dark Lord's glares. "You fucking bastard."

"Yes, I know," Snape said mildly, spooning up the broth. "You have ten seconds to sit up and start eating, or else I'll pour this soup in your face."

But Lupin only closed his eyes and turned away again.

Snape heaved an enormous sigh. After years of practice, he had developed a formidable lung capacity and had his own elaborate vocabulary of sighs. This was his 'I'm on the verge of strangling you' sigh. "I do not make idle threats, Lupin. You ought to know that. One stupid werewolf, two stupid werewolf, three stupid..."

Still turned away, Lupin said, "I just want to get it over worth."

"So do I," Snape heartily assured him, then paused. "Get what over with?"

"Can't they just arrest me now? I'd rather not go through the trouble of getting well first."

"Arrest you?" echoed Snape. "Surely the Headmaster told you."

There was a pause. "I haven't listened to anything he said."

"Stupid man!" Snape heaved his 'why must I suffer such idiocy' sigh. He spared a quick glance at the door to ensure that no one would overhear and leaned closer to say in a low voice. "It was decided to say nothing of the matter. No one knows except those of us who were present, and Dumbledore. The others were told merely that she was killed, but not how or by whom. As far as anyone knows, you remained safely locked in the basement all night." He leaned back in his seat. "This means, of course, that the Ministry remain unaware of her death, but the Headmaster felt they could not be trusted with the truth. It is not only to save your sorry pelt. The headquarters must remain a secret. So you see, it's not about you at all. Now, get up and eat."

Lupin remained silent and unmoving.

Snape growled in displeasure. "All right then. Where was I? Four stupid werewolf, five stupid werewolf..." He carefully picked up the soup dish.

"I can't," whispered Lupin, his voice hitching. "I can't, not after what I did."

"What you did?" Snape repeated. "You mean the part where you stopped a madwoman and saved all our lives?"

"I ate her." His voice rasped as if he had broken glass in his throat.

"You did not. Well," Snape corrected himself, "perhaps a very little bit. But I got you out of the room as quickly as I could. You weren't in there with her above a minute at most."

Lupin rolled over, staring at Snape with reddened eyes. "You did?"

"Yes."

Lupin looked up at the ceiling, and Snape strained so hard not to sigh that he feared he might burst a vessel in his brain. But Lupin wasn't ready to let it go. "I killed her," he choked.

"Yes, we've been over this already."

Shuddering, Lupin covered his face with his arms.

Unable to hold it in any longer, Snape breathed out his 'Dammit, now I have to be patient' sigh. He rested a hand on Lupin's arm. Poppy Pomfrey was always harping on him about the importance of human touch when comforting disconsolate students and blah blah blah. "I suppose killing as a werewolf is some kind of tremendous taboo for you. While normally I would be gratified to hear it, in this case your actions were not only justified, but necessary. Think about it, you stupid man. If you'd been human, you would have done everything in your power to stop her. But if you had been human, you would likely have been no more successful than the rest of us. As a werewolf, however, you took her by surprise. I daresay, only as a werewolf could you have stopped her at all."

Lupin lay still for a long time, his breathing ragged. He was silent for so long that Snape was about to start counting down seconds again when Lupin at last spoke up. "I am glad I stopped her." His voice was so painful, it hurt Snape to listen to it. "But I just - I never wanted to kill as a werewolf. All my life I've fought to control the beast, and now -." His voice broke entirely, and Snape knew he was crying behind his arms.

"It is the nature of war that no one can afford to remain innocent. And I daresay..." He licked his lips, not sure if this would backfire. "I daresay Black would approve of your method of avenging him."

There. Now he had a foul taste in his mouth from saying something even remotely sympathetic concerning that flea-infested mutt. But Lupin didn't lash out at him for it.

"I expect he would," Lupin choked out. He didn't sound particularly relieved by the thought. Just resigned.

Snape absolutely hated to be around crying people. He inevitably wanted to shake them, which of course only made things worse. He managed to restrain himself and let Lupin have what Poppy liked to call a 'good cry'. Four and a half seconds seemed like a reasonable time. A grown man ought to have gotten it out of his system and be able to pull himself together. Doing his best to sound sympathetic, Snape said, "Come now, Lupin. That's enough caterwauling. Time to sit up and eat."

He got his hands under Lupin's shoulders and tugged, pulling him up to a sitting position. But once up, Lupin continued leaning forward, until his head rested on Snape's shoulder. Once there he continued with his infernal crying. Not hysterical, fortunately, but still definitely leaking fluid. It occurred to Snape that in the past few months he had endured more crying from this man than from many an angst-ridden student. But just now he couldn't quite find it in his heart to shake the man. Instead he found himself patting Lupin a bit on the back in a way that he hoped was more like comforting, and less like burping a colicky baby.

His irritation melted away, and he let Lupin cry as long as he wanted. And it did go on for what seemed like an absurd amount of time, but then eating someone was no doubt a very good reason to cry. Eventually Lupin quieted down a bit, and Snape said, "There now, enough of that. You're weak enough as it is. All this blubbering will only wear you out. You need to eat." He shifted Lupin against his shoulder so he could free a hand to reach for the broth.

"I'm sorry I attacked you," Lupin sniffled. "If I had bitten you -."

Snape could hear the quaver in Lupin's voice, and in an effort to forestall further crying, he said, "But you didn't. Therefore I forgive you." He held the spoon to Lupin's lips. "Now eat."

Lupin sniffed at the soup and recoiled. "Not that. I don't think I could ever eat meat again."

Snape rolled his eyes and gave his 'here we go again' sigh. "A vegetarian werewolf," he scoffed. "Now I've seen everything." But he fished his wand out of his pocket and tapped the tray.

"Vegetable broth," he ordered. 


	34. Chapter 34

Note: This is the LAST CHAPTER. Thank you all for reading and commenting. You have been wonderful!

Chapter Thirty-five

The summer was starting to wind down. Professor McGonagall brought their Hogwarts letters herself as she was still staying with them during the days while Remus recovered at St. Mungo's. There was a brief flurry of excitement when the restored laboratory was discovered, but it quickly died down. Everyone had too much on their minds these days to spare even for good news. But Neville didn't mind. Dumbledore had been pleased, and that was enough for him.

He and Harry didn't talk any further about what had happened, and that suited Neville just fine, too. Instead, they concentrated on their summer assignments, kept the greenhouse up, and even did a few chores around the house that they thought Remus might appreciate.

Neville didn't tell anyone about how he'd resisted the Cruciatus curse. For one thing, the right time never seemed to turn up. Nor, he told himself, did he want to tell people and have them refuse to believe him. After all, he'd never accomplished much in his life, and he'd gotten along fine for years without external praise. He knew the truth, and that was enough. But more to the point, it felt like something secret he shared only with his parents, and he didn't want anyone else poking and prodding at it with their questions and doubts. The Order knew all the details from his mother's memories; let them figure the rest out for themselves.

Almost a week after the night when Bellatrix Lestrange had been killed, Remus came back from St. Mungo's, leaning heavily on Snape's arm and looking like a sneeze would knock him over. He insisted on inspecting the laboratory right away. Upon entering the room, Remus shuddered briefly, and Neville could easily imagine what gruesome images haunted his eyes. But Remus gave himself a little shake and immediately returned to good humor. Neville and Harry filled him in on all the details about the procedure.

"An excellent job, boys!" Remus cast a mischievous eye toward Snape, who was skulking in a corner as if inspecting for rats. "Wouldn't you agree, Professor? I daresay they managed just as well as if you had done the work yourself."

Dusting off his robe, Snape straightened haughtily. "I would hardly go that far. They ought not to have attempted it with only Miss Tonks for supervision. We should all be thankful they did not completely botch the job."

Remus flashed a grin at Neville and Harry. "My, my! Your potions master says you didn't botch the job. Has anyone ever received such high praise from him before?"

"You know, Lupin," growled Snape, "I liked you better when you were comatose."

"And now he likes me. Our professor is becoming downright amiable. I might just faint from shock. What say we go downstairs and have a butterbeer? That might revive me."

Neville and Harry were relieved and delighted to have Remus back. They far preferred him to McGonagall as a guardian, and the house was restored to the three of them the way it should be, with Snape occasionally visiting at odd hours to pour various potions down Remus's throat and grumble about how inconvenient it was to have to play nursemaid to a stubborn werewolf.

At last Neville's grandmother was declared well enough to be released from hospital. She and Neville would return home, and Harry would spend the last week of summer with the Weasleys at the Burrow. The boys worried about what would happen to Remus without them, but he said only that he had work to do for the Order that would keep him quite busy once the boys were gone.

They packed up all their things, and before they knew it, their last morning had arrived. Harry insisted on preparing them all a huge breakfast, and though the food was delicious, no one was very cheerful to be parting ways. Harry's trunk was in the kitchen, waiting to be flooed to the Weasleys, when he suddenly said, "I forgot Ron's Quidditch magazines! Neville, would you help me get them?"

Neville mumbled around a mouthful of toast, "I helped you pack, and I know we put them in the trunk."

"No I, uh - I think there was another one that I - I left in the library."

Finishing the last of his tea, Remus mildly said, "Neville, go help him look. I'll let the Weasleys know Harry's on his way."

Shrugging, Neville got up and followed Harry to the library. They hunted around for a few minutes, but the magazine didn't turn up. "I guess we packed it after all," said Harry.

"I told you."

"Yeah, well." Running a hand through his hair, Harry looked around the room as if searching for something else. "It's kind of weird to be leaving."

Neville stood behind one of the armchairs, running his hand over the faded fabric. They'd spent so many hours sitting in these very chairs, looking through his parents' medical records. He really didn't want to talk about leaving at all.

After a long, awkward silence, Harry began, "Look, Neville, I just wanted to say --." He stopped abruptly, mouth opening and closing silently, as if the words were just on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't quite spit them out. At last he heaved a great sigh and said, "When you get home, you'll write to me, won't you?"

Neville frowned in confusion. "We'll be back at school soon."

"I know, but I'd like it if you wrote."

Neville didn't know what to say, so he said, "Okay."

Something eased in Harry's expression, and he smiled. "Good."

Then he turned and left to floo to the Burrow, leaving Neville alone in the library.

oooooo

When Neville arrived at his grandmother's hospital room he found her in the midst of having her hair dyed lavender by a beauty witch.

"Good heavens!" Mrs. Longbottom exclaimed when she saw Neville. "You're here awfully early, aren't you?"

Neville stammered, "You said to come at ten."

She twisted her head to look at the clock, causing the beauty witch to send a spray of purple at the wall instead.

"Mrs. L, you must hold still," the beauty witch scolded, muttering a cleansing spell at the stain.

Glaring at the clock, Mrs. Longbottom said, "Is it ten o'clock already? Mercy, I'm far behind. Neville, why don't you go visit your parents? I need at least another hour. After almost two months in this frightful place, I look like a baboon."

"All right. I'll see you later, Gran."

Aiming her wand at a scraggly lock of hair, the beauty witch said, "Now, Mrs. L, hold still."

Neville ducked out of the room just as his grandmother shouted, "Call me 'Mrs. L' one more time, and I'll stick your wand up your nose!"

He took the lift to the fourth floor, exchanging a barely polite nod with Nurse Nettlethorne, who still hadn't forgiven him for disgracing Dr. Driftwood. Just as he reached for the door, it flew open, narrowly missing hitting him in the face. An astonished Dr. Chatterjee gasped, her eyes round in alarm.

"Goodness gracious, Mr. Wheelbarrow, I didn't see you there! Did I hit you?"

"No, of course not," he assured her.

"Thank Merlin! Well, I've just been visiting with your parents."

Neville peered through the doorway to see his parents sitting at the far end of the ward. "How are they?"

"Much the same, I'm afraid." She gave him a sympathetic look. "I know you're looking for good news, but we just can't know when that will be - or if it will come at all. It has been such a long time. But I assure you, I am doing everything I can for your dear parents."

Neville nodded. "I know you are, Dr. Chatterjee, and I'm very grateful. Even if nothing ever changes, I feel much better knowing they're in your care."

"Oh, my dear young man." Dr. Chatterjee fretted for a moment, twisting her hands in front of her. Suddenly she brightened. "I say! A new school term will be starting soon."

"Yes," he answered politely.

"You must be looking forward to more lessons from our favorite potions master. Do give my kind regards to Professor Snape, won't you? He is always so very droll!"

"I will." Privately Neville could guarantee he would never be taking potions again.

Dr. Chatterjee favored him with a bright smile. "Well, do have a nice visit with your parents. I'll take good care of them while you're at school."

"Thank you, Dr. Chatterjee."

The doctor bustled through the door, and Neville continued on down the center aisle toward his parents.

His father was seated in his armchair, while his mother stood at the window rapping at the pane with the knuckles of her left hand. Neville gently took her hand in his. "Good morning, Mum. You look well today."

In truth she looked the same as always, but the sight of his parents was always dear to him. "Why don't you come sit down?" he invited, leading her to sit on the bed. Opening the drawer of the bedside table, he found the hair brush. She immediately snatched it from him and he perched next to her.

As he mother started brushing his hair, he looked over at his father, sitting mutely in the chair. "You won't believe what happened, Dad," Neville began. "Or rather, what I did. They were making this laboratory, see, only there was a...," he shuddered at the memory, "...a problem." He'd already decided not to tell them about the Cruciatus curse, either, as he didn't want to upset them. If they even understood. "But the next night, me and Harry - you remember him? The boy who has come with me sometimes this summer? Anyway, him and me fixed the laboratory ourselves! Well, Tonks helped. I don't know if you know her. She's very funny. I like her a lot. Anyway, we did all the spells ourselves, including me! Really! I wasn't just handing them stuff. I did the spells too, with my new wand. I do miss yours, Dad, but I suppose it's better this way. I really did well! I think you would have been proud."

He fell silent, his head being tugged back by his mother's steady brushing. He hoped they would have been proud. Closing his eyes, he savored his mother's touch. She pulled roughly on his hair, but he didn't mind. It was his mother's touch. Even if they never got any better, at least he would have them. It was enough just to be here like this.

His mother began to hum as she brushed his hair, the old lullaby she'd sung to the doll. His lullaby, even if she didn't know who he was. He closed his eyes and listened to her soft humming, and he imagined what it was like to be a baby, what it might have been like for his mother to brush his wispy hair and cradle him against her cheek. It almost seemed like he could remember it, sitting in a high chair by the kitchen table, mashing boiled carrots with his spoon while his mother bustled about, her hair full and brown, and his father sat at the table reading something, maybe the Daily Prophet, and looking up at Neville and smiling, "What a big boy you are!"

In a way, that's how things were with his parents now. As a baby he couldn't have understood them, wouldn't have been able to fathom their minds. As a baby, all he would have known is that they loved him and cared for him. Now they were the infants and he was the parent. But the relationship was fundamentally the same. Did he really need to know what was going on in their minds? He already knew what was important.

His mother continued to brush his hair, and Neville quietly joined in humming along to her lullaby. He was out of tune, but then so was she. No doubt anyone listening would feel the urge to cover their ears against the flat notes. It wasn't pretty. But it was good.

As he hummed, words rose from somewhere deep inside him. He tried to think about them, but they slipped from his mind like water through his fingers. He relaxed into the tune again, letting his mind drift, and the words rose up again. He let them form on his lips, and he began to sing.

The sun's fading out of sight, baby dear,  
But I'll be close by all night, so do not fear.  
Within your little room, the shadows creep,  
But love watches over thee. Sleep! Do not fear, baby dear.

The brush in his hair stilled. Neville blinked his eyes open, already missing that touch.

Across from him, his father sat motionless in his armchair. But his eyes were fixed on Neville. They communicated nothing, the expression vacant, the mouth hanging slightly open, head drooping a bit forward. But the watery blue eyes were focused on his. He was staring directly into his father. In all the years that he could remember, his father had never, ever looked at him.

Cold thin fingers brushed against his cheek, and he turned. "Mummy?" he whispered, breathless. "Mummy, did you see it? Dad's looking at me. He's -."

"Baby," she said, stroking his face. "My baby. Baby dear."

-finite incantatem- 


End file.
